


Of Heroes and Witches

by Yvetal



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Tolkien - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-10-31 06:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 38
Words: 41,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvetal/pseuds/Yvetal
Summary: Set during the earlier years of the Third Age, after Sauron has been thrown down and there is relative peace in Middle Earth. But people are still wary of outsiders, and look to the wise for guidance.I've tried to make this as acurate as I can, but there may be some errors.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to keep the 'chapters' limited to shorter 'scenes' for this one.  
> This is not quite necessary for the early part of the story, but I plan to do some jumping later, so bear with me, please.

“My Lord, My Lady. Your… guests.”

Elrond stared down at the three men who now stood in the great hall of his house. He had been told they had come demanding an audience with him, but now he could see the uncertainty in their expressions. One of them took off his cap and wrung it anxiously in his hands. The other two didn't seem to know where to look. 

“Come forward.” It was Celebrian who spoke, her voice low and calm, yet authoritative. The men obeyed. “Tell us why you have come.”

The one with the hat straightened and looked up at her. At once Elrond saw the wonder in his watery eyes and smiled. Even in his fear, he could not look away from such beauty. The man cleared his throat.

“We apologize very much for the disturbance to your lords and ladies.” He untwisted his cap and wiped at his brow. “But y’see we've been having a spot of trouble down the river…”

“Trouble?” Elrond quizzed. “What do you mean?”

“A sorceress!” One of the others blurted, then remembered himself and fell silent. 

“Aye. It's true, sir. A sorceress. In the woods not far from the village.” The first affirmed.

The Lord and Lady of Imladris looked at one another, and something passed silently between them. At last Celebrian turned back to the men. “And you would have us oust this individual?”

“Y-yes, milady. If you would be so kind.”

“You cannot do this yourselves?”

“Certainly not, milady. We tried, y’see. We took up arms, and when she came to the village, we ran her off. She fled back to the woods and some of the lads tried to follow, but…”

“They did not return?”

“Not that, thanks to Eru. But they came back too soon.” He fidgeted. “She's put an enchantment on the trees, you understand, so as they got all turned about. They thought they was getting to a clearing when really they came back out where they'd entered. Gave them a right scare.”

Elrond let out a soft  _ hmph _ . “So we are to risk our soldiers challenging this woman when all she did was  _ frighten _ you?”

“Oh no, milord. I wouldn't want that! We was just wanting to ask if you’d take a look, is all!”

He looked to his wife.  _ What do you think? _

She smiled at him.  _ I think the twins have been itching for something to do. _

He nodded.  _ But let's send Glorfindel with them. Just to be safe.  _

Celebrian folded her hands in front of her and closed her eyes as though deep in thought. The men watched her intently, and when she looked up they held their breath. 

“We will send three of our finest hunters with you. They will see to your visitor.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Elladan nudged his brother. “Wake up, we're almost to the village.”

Elrohir blinked the last of his dreams away from his eyes. Sure enough, ahead was a cluster of squat wooden buildings. A few of the windows glowed orange: beacons in the night. They would have to pass through to get to the wood, and as they neared they realised what a task this would be. The children were asleep, but their mothers were not. Rather, they stood in a group by the well, hens pecking at their feet. Presently, one broke away from the group and approached them, hands on her hips.

“What on  _ earth _ have you been up to Jon!” She growled, addressing the man with the cap. “How many times did I tell you not to bother the Fair Folk with this!”

“I had to do it, Ezra!” Her husband retorted. “With the way things are nowadays I had to be sure!”

The woman turned her attention to Glorfindel, who had ridden up next to the men. “I'm sorry my lords, he's wasted your time.”

“What do you mean, lady?” Glorfindel’s voice was deep and soothing. It encouraged others to speak. “Is there no sorceress in the wood?”

“There is a woman in the wood.” She explained. “Little more’n a girl. She gave our Molly a tonic that took her fever away. And she helped old Dotty deliver her calves. Two strong wee bulls. She comes to the market sometimes and never causes any trouble. I can't imagine what's gotten into my husbands head that he thinks she's ill.”

“Doesn't sound like dark magic to me.” Elrohir remarked.

Glorfindel looked at him and grinned. “It doesn't, does it? Yet oftentimes in the past evil forces have seemed fair at first.”

Beside him Elladan nodded. “We should take a look at least.”

The farmer’s wife reached out and grasped Asfaloth’s headstall, catching their attention. “Oh please don't do her no harm, my lords! She's no threat, truly.”

“If what you say is true then neither you nor she have anything to fear.” Glorfindel assured her. “But we really must be away.”

The woman stepped back, standing with the ladies by the well to glare at her husband, whose hat was in a fine knot. They watched as the Elves rode away toward the trees.


	3. Chapter 3

“Do you hear that?” Elladan hopped from his saddle and edged under the darkened leaves. “The trees… they're speaking to one another.”

“I hear it.” Glorfindel said. “They're awake. Like those of Fangorn or the Old Forest.”

Elrohir eyed them wearily. “What do you think they're saying?” 

“We cannot know.” The older Elf replied. “But I sense no malice in them.”

“They grow so closely.” Elladan pointed out, looking at their interwoven roots. 

“To stop soldiers entering on horseback, no doubt.” Glorfindel mused. “We shall have to leave Asfaloth and the others behind, I'm afraid. If we do not return by morning they should head back.”

Asfaloth nudged his shoulder, understanding his words. Glorfindel stroked his nose. “Do not fear old friend, I believe we  _ will _ be back.”

Elrohir’s horse nipped at his hood. He patted him. “We promise.”

 

“Stay close.” Glorfindel led them through the maze of trunks. They had been wandering for some time already, but had found neither the heart of the wood, nor the exit. Through the narrow slats of moonlight and starlight Elrohir peered, seeking something - anything - that might guide their way. 

“Have they decided against us?” Elladan asked. 

“I do not believe so.” Glorfindel answered. “Else they would have sent us out like the townsmen. Perhaps they are not sure of us and have yet to decide.”

“If I remember correctly, the conversation of the trees is slow and deliberate, sometimes taking days to make a decision.” Elrohir recounted. “How long would they have us wander?”

“As long as it takes.”

“But look!” Elladan exclaimed at once, pointing. “What is that?”

“That is a tree, brother.” Elrohir replied. “There are quite a few here.”

“It is an elm.” Glorfindel observed. “Quite a distinguished old elm. I do not believe we have seen it before.”

“And all the moonlight seems to shine on it.” Elladan added, not caring to hide his smug smile. 

Glorfindel approached the tree, ducking his head under the low branches, and laid his hands on the immense bole. The twins followed more cautiously, standing clear of its rustling leaves. “It is ancient, this one.” He said. “It has watched the whole forest spring up around it.”

“And what does it think of us?” Elrohir asked nervously.

The older Elf frowned. “I cannot tell.”

With one hand still on the bark, he stepped over the elm’s snaking roots until he was on the other side. Here there was a split in the bark, long since healed over. “It has been through much.” 

He said it almost to himself, and was not surprised when the twins failed to respond. But when he rounded the tree again his heart lurched. 

They were gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Elladan? Elrohir!” 

It seemed the trees swallowed his call, and Glorfindel looked up at the elm. Had it done this? Sent them away? Were they lost somewhere in these woods? His mind flashed back to another pair of twins abandoned in the forests of Beleriand, never to be seen again, and he was forced to swallow his panic. Perhaps if he reversed his course? He ran back around the tree, calling their names. 

Nothing.

Again, his heart pounding in his chest.

No response.

But something  _ had  _ changed, had it not?

_ Yes, the moonlight.  _ It was stronger here, its white light spilling through the dense dark green leaves, which he pushed aside.

Oh, but he was somewhere else entirely now! It would have been charming had he not been terrified. There, in the clearing, sat a cottage made of carefully-arranged stones, behind which burbled a clear silver stream. There was smoke puffing merrily out of a vent in its thatched roof and a warm firelight in its windows. In a stall nearby a fine black mare stared curiously at him as she munched on some hay. 

It was the woman on the doorstep that drew all of his attention, however. 

Long limbed and tall she was, with white hair that shone in the starlight. Her eyes glinted a vibrant green and her skin had a golden sheen. One of the Eldar she seemed, yet not, for when she smiled at him, he caught a glimpse of pointed fangs, and her folded arms though bare of clothes bore intricate patterns in black ink. 

“Are you lost?”

“I…” He collected his thoughts. “Yes. My companions…”

“If they were not sent here they were sent back.” She offered. “I assure you they are in no danger.”

“You set the spell upon this place?”

She shook her head. “There is no spell, my lord. Only the trees and I.”

“You command them?”

“No. Father Elm commands them. I only asked for his help when the men from the village came.” She shrugged. “It seems he's a tad overprotective.”

“How do I get out?” 

“He'll either let you out or he won't.” 

“You won't help me?”

She scratched at her chin. “If I do, will you let me be?”

“Yes, anything!”

She turned into the house. “Come in.”

He followed her as far as the door before he hesitated. How did he know this wasn't a trick. Glorfindel peeped past the threshold.

She was standing over a pan, poking at some sausages. 

“What are you doing!”

She looked him up and down before answering: “You disturbed me before I could even prepare my dinner.”

“What? I...that,is to say I apologize.” He stammered. When had he ever stammered before? He, Lord of the Golden Flower? “But don't you think we should really get moving?”

“Why. Your friends aren’t in a hurry are they?”

“No -”

“Besides, you look hungry.” She added more meat to the pan as she spoke, along with a dollop of butter and a sprinkle of salt and pepper. The smell hit Glorfindel’s nostrils and his stomach rumbled. He groaned.

“Well. I could do with a morsel.”

“Come in then. Sit down and let us talk and eat a while.”

He sat, hanging his sword belt on the back of the rickety old chair. Plates of bread, cheese, fruit and other, more exotic foods were already laid out on the table. “Are you expecting guests?”

“I was expecting three lost lordlings.” She answered. “But I only got one. Rashers, eggs?”

His stomach wailed again. “Yes please.”

The woman threw four strips of bacon onto the pan, and tossed two eggs into a bubbling pot. 

“Um..”

“What?”

“Could I have two eggs, please?”

She smiled and added another.

“So you knew we were coming?”

“The farmers said something about going to the Elves and bringing back ‘big strong warriors’.” She laughed. “Honestly I expected an army the way they went on.”

“Yes they begged Lord Elrond to send more, but he refused.”

“He doesn't think I'm a threat?”

“He isn't sure. He sent us to check.”

She set the plates of meat and eggs down and slipped into the chair opposite him. “And what do you think?”

“I'm undecided as of yet.”

The woman shook her head and turned her attention to piling good onto her plate. “I suppose you're wise.”

“You're not offended?”

“Of course I am.” She scoffed. “But I understand. Hence I am not upset. Wine?”

Glorfindel nodded, thanking her as she fillet his cup almost to the brim. He supped it, all the while expecting some sort of poison. Instead he took another mouthful, savoring it this time as he watched her. She ate delicately, not dropping a morsel, her movements smooth and graceful. Again he was reminded of his own kind.

“Who are you?” He blurted at once. “Where did you come from?”

A giggle, soft and clear. “I was wondering when you would ask.”

“It slipped my mind.” He admitted.

“It's this place. The trees whisper all at once. When I first came I couldn't keep track of my

own thoughts for a month.”

“I see.”

“As for your questions: My name is Kri, and I come from the far North.”

He thought a moment. “The Northern Wastes?” 

Kri rolled her eyes. “No, the Northern  _ Continent _ . Beyond even the ruins of Angband. Across the icy sea.”

“Forochel?”

“Even further.”

“How can anyone survive so far north?” He asked. “It must be a frozen solid.”

“It is.” She concurred. “We mostly live underground.”

“What do you mean by ‘we’?” He helped himself to an apple. “That is to say, what are you? I have not seen one of your people before.”

Kri considered this. “We call ourselves Olari. I don't know if there is a word for us in your tongue, I'm afraid. But our legends say that we come from the Maiar and Avari who fled north out of the reaches of Melkor.”

“So we are akin?”

“Possibly.”

“But the Valar never spoke of you.”

“Nor you.”

“Then how did you know of us?”

She swirled her wine, watching it swish about in her cup. It had stained her lips a deep red. Glorfindel licked his own unconsciously. “When Beleriand fell into the sea, a handful of your people washed up on our shores. We took them in and made them our own, and in return they told us the tales of their lost realm. One of whom was my teacher. He had been a soldier of Finrod Felagund, and grew up in Nargothrond. He showed me the volumes written by all the southern settlers: Elves, Men and Dwarves alike. He taught me to read and write in their tongues. And he urged me to travel south with him when I came of age.”

“You came here with him?”

“No.”

“What became of him?”

“He died. He joined the hunt for the white stag on midwinter’s eve and never came back.” She took a long, deep draught of wine. “They said a bear got him. One of the great white monstrosities that dwells in the caverns by the Endless Tundra. It dragged him away and… well…”

“They never found him? Not even a body?”

She scoffed. “Only a fool would follow such a beast.”

“I see.” Glorfindel studied her face once more. So he had been right. There was Eldar blood in her veins. Yet he could see something of the other races in her manner and features. What a curious thing. “How long do you live, if you don't mind my asking?”

“I don't. It's a good question. The truth is, there are people in my city who have been there almost since the beginning, and others who grow old and die after just a few winters.” She met his gaze. “I seem to be of the former.”

“What of Mandos? Aman?”

“We do not know.”

“I'm sorry.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Don't be.” Kri folded her hands on the tabletop and examined him. “But what of you?”

“Yes, where are my manners.” He shook his head and stood up to bow. “I am Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, once-servant of King Turgon of Gondolin.  _ Elen sila lumenn omentielvo.” _

As he watched her eyes widened, and she jumped up. “Glorfindel? The one who fought and slew a balrog single-handed to save his people? But… but you  _ fell _ , did you not?”

He winced. “I did. And Mandos took me and released me. And I lived awhile in the bliss of Tirion.”

“But why are you here?”

“The Valar sent me back, as an emissary. I preceded the Istari and told the Eldar of their coming. As long as they remain here, so must I.”

She rounded the table, eager to look at him with new eyes. Glorfindel stood still, blinking in surprise when she let out a merry laugh. 

“Oh, my lord, but you have made a fool of me!”

His mouth opened, aghast. “What? Never, my lady!”

“You have!” She insisted. “Here I thought I was chatting with a mere messenger, all the while I have served bacon and eggs to the hero of Gondolin!”

“I assure you my lady, the meal was quite sufficient.”

“Sufficient!” She buried her face in her hands, having turned quite pink. “Oh, this is mortifying!”

“Please, do not dwell on it!”

“I bought the wine from a sheep farmer!”

“It was fit for a king!”

“What's more I have wasted your time.” She grabbed her cloak off the wall and made for the door. “Come, I will see you out of the wood.”

She was across the clearing before Glorfindel could utter another word. Reluctantly, he belted his sword and followed. As he neared the elm, Kri offered her hand. “Lest we become separated. He's prone to mischief.”

He clasped it, soft and warm, in a strong grip. “I really did enjoy your company.”

Her cheeks coloured again. “Yes, well… so did I.”


	5. Chapter 5

The twins were waiting by the horses when they emerged. Kri dropped Glorfindel’s hand at once, ignoring the pained look he gave her. A fine, white stallion perked his ears and whinnied at the sight of his master, rousing the younger elves from their thoughts.They both started when they saw the older elf in the company of strange woman.

“My lord!” One exclaimed. “We thought you were lost!”

Glorfindel frowned. “No. I merely stayed for dinner.”

Kri visibly cringed.

“But you’ve been gone so long!”

“Two nights!”

“ _ Two nights?” _

“It happens.” Kri interjected. “I told you; the trees can mess with your head. Sometimes the village folk tell me I’ve not visited for months when it’s only felt like a few days.”

He eyed the wood suspiciously. “And yet you remain there?”

She shrugged. “They mean no harm. And so long as I don’t miss anything important I -”

Kri froze at the sound of hooves. Beyond the twins, riders were peeling away from the shadows of the sleeping town. More marched up on either side. Elven warriors in full plate.

“Oh no…” Glorfindel uttered.

“We thought you were lost. Or worse.” The other twin explained. “So we sent a messenger back to Imladris. Father did the rest.”

Behind them a twig snapped, and Kri shrieked. One of the soldiers had intercepted her as she ran for the trees. As his iron grip came down around her, she squirmed in unbridled panic. 

“Stop!” Glorfindel barked. “Release her!”

“Lord Elrond ordered us to seize the sorceress and bring her back to him.”

“There’s no need! She’s harmless!”

“Is she really?” One of the twins again. Kri couldn’t tell them apart. “She kept you there long enough to have set a spell on you.”

“Elladan this is absurd!”

“Is it really? Tell me; she gave you food and drink at her table. How can you be certain it was not tainted?”

“It wasn’t I - I can’t be certain but…” He looked at Kri again. “I can’t be certain.”

“ _ What?!” _ She roared, elbowing her captor and hissing at the jarring sensation the steel of his breastplate sent down her arm. “How can you say that?”

“You could have seen me out the moment I found your house.” He recalled. “Yet you insisted that I dine with you. Why was that?”

“I thought if we spoke you would see that I am no threat. I thought we could come to an agreement without violence or...or…” She wrenched her arm free. The soldier caught it easily and brought it behind her back. “...humiliation.”

“You have yet to suffer either.”

A laugh. Bitter and sharp. “Really? Do you think I could ever return here after this?”

Glorfindel glanced over to the houses, his elf eyes making out the figures in the windows and doorways. Some even lined the muddy streets. “No.”

Kri threw her weight against the elf holding her, almost knocking him over. He swore. “Shall I bind her, my lord?”

Glorfindel edged closer to the woman, leaning in to speak to her. She bared her teeth at him, sharp fangs glinting menacingly. “If I promise not to tie you, will you give me your word that you will come quietly, that you will not try to escape?”

“ _ No _ .”

The venom in her voice made him start, and he looked her in the eye. Gone was the warmth and kindness he had seen before. Indeed her entire expression had turned cold. And she glared at him with such disgust that he had to turn away.

“Use rope. Not the chains.”

 

Kri tugged absently at the knot holding her wrists together. It was no use trying to undo it, or even cut the rope. She had attempted both, which had only gotten her here; sat in front of Glorfindel with her bindings lashed to the pommel of his saddle. He rode behind her in utter silence. They had not breathed a word to each other since he gave the order to take her, which had been fine when she had been riding with the guard. Now it was becoming unbearable. 

“How much further?”

She felt him look down at her, then back up. He pointed at the hills up ahead. “Over those, and then down into the valley. The way is hidden, and only those with pure intentions may find it.”

“Are you not worried about showing me the way? I could come back after this and take vengeance upon you all.”

Another long pause. “As I said, you could only find the valley if your intentions were pure, so your question makes no sense.”

“Pure hatred.”

A chuckle. “You do not hate us.”

“No.” She agreed. “I do not hate you. I hate that you tricked me. But I cannot hate you.”

He sighed. “I did not trick you, I swear it.”

“Hmph.”

“Truly. My lady, if I had come under orders to bring you to Imladris, I would have asked you to come to Imladris. This is all a misunderstanding. One I am certain we can set right.”

“And then?”

“...and then you’ll be free to go.”

She dropped the knot and scratched the stallion’s shoulder. Asfaloth chuffed happily. “You know, I wanted to come here.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I wanted to visit all of the realms of this world. To meet all of its peoples.”

“You still can, once this is done.”

“...but I was worried they would mistrust me.”

“ _ Ah. _ ”

They were near the crown of the hill when Kri spoke again. “Lord Glorfindel?”

“Yes?”

“What will happen if Lord Elrond decides against me?”

“He will not.”

“But if he does -”

“ _ He will not _ .”


	6. Chapter 6

At long last Glorfindel untied her ropes and dismounted. He had barely lifted a hand to help before Kri hopped down from Asfaloth on her own. All banter aside, she was still none too pleased with him. Thankfully, the guards dispersed, leaving them and the twins to seek out the Lord and Lady in one of the highest chambers of the house.

Elrond and Celebrian were waiting in a large study overlooking their small domain. At the Lady’s side sat a small girl - a beautiful child of raven hair and snowy skin. Her clear grey eyes seemed to look into Kri’s very soul as she entered the room, and she caught her breath.

_ Luthien come again _ .

As though hearing her very thoughts, she girl offered a sweet smile and turned her attention back to the book in her lap.

The two boys stood to their father’s left as he rose to greet Glorfindel. “My lord. We feared the worst!” To Kri’s surprise, the two embraced, and Glorfindel kissed Elrond upon the brow. 

“Your fears were unfounded, my friend.” He replied. “As you see I am quite unharmed.”

“Indeed.” Elrond looked him up and down, as though he were unsure. “But you were gone, and my sons could not find you. I hope you will forgive them their rash decisions.”

The line of Glorfindel’s mouth tightened, and he glanced at the sons of Elrond, who to their credit did seem sorry. “It is not my place to forgive them, but the Lady Kri’s. It is she who has suffered.”

The Lord of Imladris now turned his gaze to her, and Kri felt small. True, Glorfindel was older, renowned as the Saviour of Gondolin, but he had met her as an equal and so she did not fear him. Here was one with power and authority, who could cast her out or take her head and none save a few would question him. To her relief, she found no anger in his eyes. Merely curiosity. 

“So it would seem.” He admitted. “My Lady, do you demand some penance from my sons?”

“What?” Kri blurted. Behind their father, Elladan and Elrohir’s expressions mirrored her own shock. “No, of course not!”

“Strange.” Elrond raised an eyebrow. “They had you arrested and brought here in chains, but you hold no ill will towards them?”

“There were no chains, only rope.” She corrected, then remembered herself. “I-I mean of course, I am upset about what happened, but I empathise. They thought I had done something to Lord Glorfindel. Had the roles been reversed, I probably would have done likewise.”

Celebrian stepped forward. “What  _ were _ you and Lord Glorfindel doing for all the time that you were alone?”

Kri blushed. “Eating eggs.”

“For two days?”

“The Lady gave me food and wine.” Glorfindel cut in. “We talked for a long while. And she told me of her people.”

“That still does not explain why you were gone so long.”

“Time moves differently in the wood, Lady Celebrian.” He explained. “The truth is, to me it felt like nothing.”

“You said she hindered you.” One of the boys (Elrohir?) said. “Is that not true?”

“She...she invited me in when I asked her to lead me out.” Glorfindel responded. “That is all.”

“And you do not think she has charmed you in some way?” Elrond queried.

“I would not!” Kri exclaimed, offended. “Tell me, if I were an elf would you ask such a thing?”

“If you were an elf he would not need to!” Elrohir retorted.

“What is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

“ _ Enough! _ ” Elrond held up his hands, and the room fell silent. “The lady is right. She has done nothing to merit cruel words.”

Elrohir coloured and hung his head. 

“I apologise to her on behalf of my sons for all that has transpired.” He went on. “But I hope that she will understand that these are dark times. There is a shadow over Dol Guldur, and there have been ill folk abroad as of late.”

Kri nodded. This much she understood.

“As such we have become wary of strangers, and we cannot in good conscience allow her to leave here without knowing that she is not a threat…”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Glorfindel touched her shoulder.

“...Mithrandir will arrive at this house a month from tomorrow, and I believe we all trust him to make an informed judgement in this matter…”

_ Mithrandir! _ Of course, he could clear her name. Kri nodded.

“...thus, I invite the Lady Kri to dwell with us awhile as a guest.

What say you?”

She smiled. “That is fair enough, My Lord. I will stay awhile. But there is one thing…”

“Name it.”

“My horse.” She looked to Glorfindel. “The black mare you saw by my house. I cannot leave her unattended.”

“Done.” Elrond said. “I will be sending some of my men to investigate the wood in the morning. I’ll be sure to instruct them to fetch your horse.”

“And My Lord?”

“Yes?”

“Tell them not to touch anything they’re not sure of.”

“...I will.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Well... It suits you far better than I.” Celebrian clapped her hands in delight, admiring the sight of Kri in an unused champagne-coloured gown.

“Really? I'm not quite sure-”

Celebrian hushed her to silence. It had been quite enough trouble trying to coax her into the dress, and she would not hear any complaints now. “It is perfect. You look beautiful.”

Kri flushed, eyeing the elven beauty that stood before her. Sindar and Noldor and Vanyar at once, Celebrian was the fruit of several fair and noble houses. To hear such things from her… well. It almost made Kri feel confident.

_ Almost _ .

“We shall have to do something with your hair.” The lady mused, running her fingers through Kri’s pure-white tresses. “I'm certain we can find a circlet for you.”

“There's really no need for all of this…”

“There is no need. But what kind of hostess would I be of I did not tend to my guest?”

_ Prisoner.  _ Kri thought, though she did not say it.

The lady set a rather plain gold band upon her head and scowled before snatching it away. Another followed. And another. And another. Until she found the right one. Kri hardly had time to glance at herself in the mirror before Celebrian set a palm to her back and hurried her out of the room. 

 

A place had been set for her at the Lady’s right hand, under the silk canopy where Celebrian and little Arwen always sat. Lord Elrond sat opposite, with his sons on either side of him, followed by Glorfindel and Lindir, and other nobles of his house. They all rose as the ladies entered, and bowed as they sat. Elladan and Elrohir eyed Kri sheepishly over the table, and she, determined to let bygones be bygones, did her best to smile at them. They did look rather splendid out of their hunting garb, in robes of blue and green respectively, with silver circlets on their brows. Almost as replicas of their father they were - almost. 

Yet it was to Glorfindel that she was most drawn. He sat across from her in garments of pure white, paired with shining silver. At that moment, more clearly than before, she could see the Light of Aman in his face, as well as in the glimmer of the jewelled band holding back his golden hair.

_ Do the Valar shine so brightly?  _

He grinned and she looked away, appalled at how she had been staring. When she ventured a peek out of the corner of her eye he was still watching her, though the smile had faded from his fair face. 

 

Dinner was served; a simple meal of roasted venison and vegetables. What it lacked in finesse it made up for in flavour and the Lady Celebrian served Kri seconds with a smile. The wine was far finer than the stuff she had had at her table the night (how many nights?) before - it was rich and flavorful, complementing the meat wonderfully. She peeked over the edge of her goblet as she drank, in time for Lord Glorfindel to salute her with his. Stifling a laugh, she set it down and, emboldened by the alcohol perhaps, leaned over the table. Puzzled at first, he followed suit, allowing her to hiss: “You are a poor liar, My Lord!”

He blinked. “How do you mean?” 

“That was slop I served you and we both knew it!” She grinned. “Now I see what you're used to and your fibbing becomes all the more transparent!”

A chuckle. “Perhaps you're right. But it was not the food I enjoyed so much.”

He sat back, lifting his cup to his lips with a smirk. It took a second for Kri to catch his meaning, at which point a swift flush rose to her cheeks. Still she laughed, hiding behind her goblet as Celebrian glanced between them, a smile playing at her lips. 

The plates were cleared and dessert set before them: bowls of glazed autumn fruit and nuts with cream, and a sweet sparkling wine to match. Kri ate her fill once more, ever more aware of eyes upon her from across the table. The wine was working well, warming her and urging her. So that the desire to look and admire fought against her notions of propriety, and her face turned ever toward him, and though she enjoyed the Lady Celebrian’s conversation, she fought to keep her attention.


	8. Chapter 8

With the meal done, Elrond invited his guests to rise, and the doors to the dining hall were thrown open. Down the passage was another, far grander hall with one entirely set with glass doors. These were left open to the cool night air. A fire burning low in the hearth kept them comfortable.

At once they began to disperse, and Celebrian took Kri aside by the elbow before she even had a chance to worry about her place. 

“He's quite taken with you.” The lady whispered, leading her into one of the quieter corners of the room.

“Who?”

A tug on her arm, playful and friendly. “Don't be silly. I saw the way you looked at him, too. You could hardly focus what I was saying.”

“You mean Lord Glorfindel?” Her head turned automatically, seeking him out. There. By the fireside. Talking to one of the bards. Would he sing tonight? He looked up, catching her off guard and she snapped back to Celebrian. 

Her hostess giggled. A sweet and girlish sound. “You needn't act so coy. The gardens are lovely this time of year. Why don't the two of you go for a walk?”

“I-I don't know about that…” Kri examined her shoes.

“Well,” The lady’s expression changed, a frown drawing a fine line between her silver brows “Maybe he'll ask you do dance. Lord Glorfindel is a fine dancer, and I'm sure he'll be glad to teach you, if you do not know the steps.”

“Oh… I'm not really one for dancing…” 

“Is that so?” A sigh. “Well, he's done with the bard. And he's currently examining the back of your head. I could call him over to speak -”

“No!” Kri’s hands took both of Celebrian’s. “Please, do not!”

“My Lady, whatever is the matter!” Celebrian gripped her trembling fingers tightly. “From what I've seen you've got eyes for nothing but him, yet you wish to be nowhere near him!”

“I-I cannot.” Kri hissed. “It… it is…”

“What?”

“ _ Improper.” _

Celebrian took to laughing, drawing the attention of several persons nearby. Kri waved her hands in a desperate bid to quiet her. Was he looking? She dared not turn. 

“My lady, please!”

Celebrian, seeing her distress, calmed herself with admirable haste. Still wiping her eyes, she asked. “My dear whatever  _ is  _ the matter?”

Hesitantly, Kri looked the lady in the eye. “I am a worker. A craftswoman.” 

“Oh? What do you make?”

“I mostly bind books. And illustrate them. And I used to assist my master.”

“What did he do?” 

“He was a medicine man, mostly. But he was so very wise… He taught me all sorts of things. He really shouldn't have, but I couldn't help asking questions, and he was too kind…” 

“How intriguing. But I'm afraid I don't completely follow: Why should he not have taught you? And what does this have to do with you and Lord Glorfindel?”

Kri shook her head. Her and he, what a notion! “I am not suitable for a lord. For a warrior as he.”

Celebrian scoffed. “What sort of talk is that? Of course you are!”

Kri tilted her head. “How so?”

Settings her hands on her shoulders, the lady turned her to face into the room. It had filled up considerably as they were speaking, and Kri quailed slightly. Lady Celebrian whispered in her ear: “Do you see the man Lord Glorfindel is laughing with?”

Oh, she had seen him laughing. Of course she had. “Yes.”

“He is a carpenter.”

Kri started. “He is?”

“Indeed. And his wife, the woman next to him. She made your dress and mine.”

“But they both look so fine!”

“So do you, my dear. Why do you think Glorfindel is glancing this way?”

Kri blushed, but Celebrian went on, pointing out one guest after another. Smith. Cobbler. Kennelmaster. Stableboy. Tinker. They were all here. And at last Kri began to understand. 

“This is so unlike where I come from.” 

Celebrian squeezed her shoulders. “Well, perhaps you came here for a reason.”

She laughed. “Yes, maybe.”

“Now why don't we go over to your Lord? He is alone now and looking for you. We could see about that dance.”

“Actually I  _ could _ do with a walk.”


	9. Chapter 9

The gardens  _ were  _ lovely. Though the slender saplings overhead were busy shedding their leaves, none littered the limestone paths. Instead they blanketed the lawns. In their beds, whole bushels of roses, chrysanthemums and carnations thrived, and long lines of orchids and lilies bordered the walls. Of course there were crops, and huge hedges bursting with fruit. In one corner a dozen orange pumpkins fought for space in a small patch. 

Admiring their surroundings gave them good reason not to talk, as well as several excuses make conversation. Not taxing conversation, of course. Having been abandoned by Lady Celebrian, who  _ insisted _ her husband had asked for her, both of them had struggled to banter before Kri mentioned the gardens.

_ The gardens!  _ How he had lept at the suggestion. How very eager he had been. 

Strolling alongside her now, Kri could still sense Glorfindel buzzing in quiet excitement. When she asked what some of the blossoms were he prattled on about them, even if he could not answer her question. Not that she really cared what they were in the first place. 

And then she commented on the carnations, admiring how some of their petals were two-toned: “Do you like them? Would you like some? We could put them in your room. Of course they're too big for a bedroom. At least these ones are. They'd look splendid on the veranda -”

No, thank you. I can see them here. And they look far nicer in among the other plants. 

A long, drawn-out silence followed. 

“Would you like to see the murals?”

“Murals?”

 

“Is this Menegroth?”

A chuckle. “Yes. And I'm beginning to wonder if you need to ask at all.”

“Well, I thought I'd humour you.”

He put a hand to her back. The lightest touch. Kri willed herself not to react, to step aside or flinch. She ran through Celebrian’s words again on her head. This was normal here. 

“So tell me, who do you see?”  

She pointed. “Thingol and Melian, of course. The man holding up the ring must be Beren, so that has to be Luthien there. The one whispering in the King’s ear is holding a lute, so my guess is that's Daeron.”

“And that one, speaking to the Queen?”

She thought a moment. “Saeros?” 

“I'm impressed!”

“Truth be told that's probably all I could name.”

“Surely you know those two in the corner?”

“Ah! But they must be Lady Celebrian’s parents!”

“Yes. You'll find them hidden in many of the paintings here. She included them as much as she could.”

The words echoed in Kri’s head before her jaw dropped open. “She painted these?”

“She did. She worked on them endlessly in the years before Arwen was born. We used to watch her. The Lady would hardly speak or rest when inspiration stuck her, so engrossed she was.”

Kri gazed around the council chamber. It was huge, ovular and had a viewing gallery above. And every single panel of wall sported an image of like size and detail. 

Her eyes fell on one painting across the way, and she flashed Glorfindel a grin. “Oh, but when were we going to get to this one, My Lord?”

A hint of pink showed in his cheeks. “I was going to work my way around.”

It was as gorgeous as all the others. And the images of the Two Trees were set with silver and gold, with small gems for flowers. Between them stood King Turion, blessing the union of Tuor and Idril Celebrindal. Looking at it, Kri could hear the tinkle of the many fountains, the chirp of the little blue birds dotted here and there, and the chatter of those gathered in the Tower of the King.

Yet beneath this, seemingly beneath the very stones of Gondolin, was another image. Of a demon robes in shadow and flame. In one hand he brandished a cruel whip of three thongs, and in the other was raised a black sword. But he was falling, as though from a great height, and the hero who had thrown him from the precipice was haloed in white. 

“But who is this?” She teased, turning to compare. Indeed, the likeness was uncanny. Except that this Glorfindel, the one of flesh and blood, was blushing profusely. 

Still, he smirked as he took her hand, responding only: “The Hero of Gondolin.”

And then, so very quietly, “The only one permitted to return.”

He looked so very sad for a moment, and Kri was moved by pity. “I'm sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“You miss them.”

“Of course, yes. Turgon was my King. Idril, Tuor and Echthelion were my friends. I miss them very much.”

Unsure of what to say, she chose to remain silent, only studying his face as he studied the faces before him. 

“Still, they're in a better place now.”

“Aman?”

“Yes. Well, at least Echthelion and I spent a while together in Tirion. I do not know what happened to the others. Tuor and Idril… well I expect they went out of this world. And Turgon… I assume Mandos has chosen not to judge him just yet.”

“I'm sure you'll meet him again. In Aman.”

“I hope I can, one day.”

Again the quiet of the night stretched out between them. Somewhere in the house a bard was carrying a lively tune. Kri held onto him tightly, savouring the gentle brush of his thumb over her knuckle. 

“Glorfindel?”

“When you were…  _ there _ ...Did you see any of my kind?”

His face darkened. “No, never.”

A pained draw of breath. “ _ Ah _ .”

“Perhaps Mandos keeps you in separate halls. Perhaps… perhaps there is a place for you aside from the Eldar.”

She nodded. “I guess I won't know til I know.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Come. Let's sit awhile among the flowers.”

 

Elves generally do not sleep, at least not in the same way as other races. So it must have come as something of a shock when Kri eventually nodded, her head tilting over to rest against his shoulder. Glorfindel held her there while, enjoying the warmth and the smell of her, but the air was chill and when he felt her shiver he eventually gathered her into his arms, heart skipping as he gently tucked her against his breast.

Not quite knowing what to do, he removed her shoes and surcoat with much apologies and laid her under the covers. She mumbled something dreamily about having a man in her room, to which he excused himself and made a swift exit.

She had seemed so serene in his arms as he carried her through the house that everyone was rather startled when, in the dead of night she jolted bolt upright and screamed. 


	10. Chapter 10

It seemed to pierce the very walls. Such a shriek of pure terror. Glorfindel was on his feet at once, sprinting through the halls to Kri’s chamber. Lord Elrond, Lady Celebrian, and a handful of others followed at his heels.

The handle turned, but the door stuck in its frame, so he shouldered it open. There she stood with the veranda doors flung wide, whether meaning to climb or jump he would never know, for she turned as he entered and was in his arms at once. Her words came hurried and confused, spattered with her own tongue. 

“Someone...by the bed. He's gone now... _ uafásach…  _ I don't know who… where... _ draíocht... _ the door!”

“My Lady, calm down!” Celebrian spoke,  reaching out to brush snowy tresses out of Kri’s face. “Take a breath. Slowly. That's it. Now, tell us what has happened.”

“There was someone... _ something  _ in the room.” She told them. “At the foot of the bed. I woke up and saw him. That's when I screamed. But then he wasn't there…” 

“Are you certain you weren't dreaming?” Elrond’s voice came, steady, gentle, reassuring. It washed over her and slowed her racing pulse.

“No.” She answered. “Before I was dreaming of the wood. I'm sure I was awake and -  _ look at the door!” _

Her eyes widened, fixed on the door behind them, causing them all to pivot.

“ _ By the Valar! _ ” gasped Celebrian, hand to her mouth in shock. For all of the door and even part of the wall was encased in leafy tendrils. 

Her husband calmly reached out and touched one of the vines. “They were made by magic, but there is none in them now.” He plucked one of the leaves. “Elm.”

Kri and Glorfindel both started. 

“ _ Elm? _ ” He echoed, taking it from Elrond. “Kri, what is this?’

“I do not know.”

“It can't be a coincidence.”

“I said  _ I do not know. _ ”

Celebrian frowned, searching their faces. “What is this about?”

“The tree at the centre of Kri’s wood.” Glorfindel elaborated. “The one that brought me to her house. It was an ancient elm.”

“Did you sense anything when you were near it?” 

“I sensed a great power, nothing more.”

“Kri. Is there anything more you can tell us about this tree?” Elrond urged gently.

“Yes… there is one thing…”

“Go on.”

“I don't know how to explain it, but…” She chose her words. “There were times when it spoke to me.”

“It spoke?”

“What did it say?” Asked Celebrian.

“Why did you not mention this before?” Glorfindel questioned.

“It did not seem important.” She responded, trying to read his face. Elrond and Celebrian were purely interested, but there was something in his expression… “Honestly, I thought it was perhaps a tree-like Ent. Or an Ent-like tree. We would greet each other when I passed. Sometimes I sat and read to him. Other times he would tell me when people entered the wood, like a warning.”

“He.” Celebrian uttered. “You said ‘ _ he’.” _

“Yes. And there was a figure in my room tonight. Like a man but not.” Kri mused. “It has to be -”

“There is someone or something in the tree, then.” Glorfindel interrupted. “But what does it want from her. And how did it get here?”

“I don't think any of us can answer you.” Elrond admitted. “But it will be light soon, and I will send a party to the wood. I will send my sons with them to investigate.”

“And I will go, too.” Glorfindel declared.

“No!” Kri exclaimed before she could think.

He frowned at her. “Why not?”

“I-I'm not sure… I just think you would be safer here.”

“Safe? What from?”

She just shook her head, unable to answer.

“Whatever the case, I'm going.”

“Then let me go, too!”

“Whatever this being is,” Elrond told her. “It seems to be after you. It would not be wise.”

“But perhaps I can draw it out!” Kri offered. 

Glorfindel grumbled something. “It would be a good tactic.”

“I don't like this…” Celebrian commented.

“Nor do I.” Elrond agreed. “Nonetheless, I cannot fault it. My lady, I can neither command nor suggest that you go, and I cannot find reason to stop you, either. But stay close to my soldiers, and  _ be careful _ .”


	11. Chapter 11

“Stay with me.” Glorfindel ordered, ducking under a branch.

“You haven't let go of my hand since we dismounted.” Kri retorted. “I don't exactly have a choice.”

“ _ Good. _ ”

“We should get Duvah first.”

“Who?”

“My horse. I want her out of this place lest this venture turn sour.”

“Fair enough.” He held a limb out of her way. “Do you think he knows we're here?”

“Yes, he always knows.”

“And you never found that the least bit disconcerting?”

“No.  _ And keep your voice down.” _

“ _ Why?” _

_ “What if he can hear us, too?” _

His face told her he had not considered this. 

Behind them, Elladan and Elrohir were on edge, hands on their hilts, they watched the canopy above and the bracken below. They were clearly frightened, and bravely pushing on in spite of this. Kri admired them. 

At once Elladan pointed. “There!”

There it was indeed. The same old tree. Bent and twisted. Its warped branches reached out to the beeches around it, and its roots clawed at the earth. Where once it had seemed old and wise, to Kri it now seemed sinister. She had half a mind to tiptoe up to it, but she had to let on that all was well.

“Hello there, friend!” She chirped, patting its rough bark. “I hope you've been taking good care of dear Duvah for me.”

The leaves overhead rattled and she jumped. Glorfindel squeezed her hand and whispered: “I can go. You wait-”

“Not a chance.”

Duvah was nosing about the clearing as they rounded the trunk. Hearing familiar footfalls, she perked her ears and trotted over to them.

“Oh, there you are!” Kri cooed, scratching her ears. “I missed you!”

The mare nudged her with her nose, seeking rubs, to which her mistress obliged. “Now let's get your saddle and headstall, shall we?”

Glorfindel grabbed her arm all of a sudden, causing her to yelp. “What-!”

But he was not looking at her. He was staring wide-eyed at her house.

Or what was left of it.

Instead there slumped a pile of rubble. It was ensnared in a net of thick tendrils, which had clearly torn it apart. 

They looked terribly like the roots of a great tree.

“I think we should go.” Kri breathed, mouth dry.

“Yes, I think so. Here, take my hand. Don't let go, no matter what happens. Duvah, come.”

He half-dragged her away from the wreckage of her home. The only way out was by the elm, and his heart thundered in his chest as those reaching branches edged closer. 

As they neared the trunk, he drew his sword, ready to hack off any wandering limbs. But all was still here, and he almost believed they would be allowed out unmolested.

Suddenly, Duvah screamed and charged past, throwing him against the bole. Kri’s grip tightened until it was almost painful, tugged, and then her hand was ripped from him. Glorfindel raised his blade, ready to strike her assailant -

But there was no-one there. Only a cocoon of slithering vines quickly devouring a slender hand. 

 

“Lord Glorfindel!” Elladan came sprinting through the trees, near barreling into his mentor. 

Elrohir followed, faced flushed and panting. “The horse… thought you lost…”

“No.” He replied hoarsely. “But  _ she  _ is.”

He tossed his notched sword to the ground with a curse. His flowing mane of hair was disheveled, falling before his face. His right cheek was bleeding where a shard of steel had caught it. 

“What happened?” Elladan asked.

“It took her.” Came the grim response. “The tree - or the thing within - plucked her out of my very hand.”

“But what did it do-” Elrohir was brought up short by his brother shaking his head. 

“Perhaps we should launch an attack?” Elladan ventured.

“Against a  _ tree _ ?” Glorfindel snapped, snatching up his blade once more. “Still, I would like to light a fire at its roots. Smoke out that -”

Above them the foliage rattled angrily, casting dead leaves around them. Elladan and Elrohir cowered closer to one another. To their surprise, Glorfindel let out an enraged snarl. 

“You dare challenge me, fiend! I'll make kindling of you!”

“Lord Glorfindel!” Elrohir squeaked. “Perhaps we should retreat. We can do no good here.”

“I'll not leave without burying my sword in that bastard's heart!”

Again, the trees shook, goading him. He seemed ready to dash back into the depths of the wood, but Elrohir caught him.

“It will do no good, My Lord!” He said. “We have neither the knowledge or the means to fight this creature.”

Glorfindel strained against him, but now Elladan put himself between his mentor and the path ahead. “Elrohir is right, we must go.back for help. Lord Glorfindel, you must listen to us!”

“Lord Glorfindel,” Elrohir said softly. “She is gone.”

The warrior slouched in his grasp, as though struck by a heavy blow. Elladan, standing before him, saw the tears in his eyes as he righted himself, and slowly pushed his brother off. 

“You're right, both of you.” he conceded. “I'm sorry. Forgive me my foolishness.”

“Think nought of it.” Replied Elladan. 

“Come. I can bear this place no longer. Gather the others. Let us bring word back to your father.” 


	12. Chapter 12

“Close the door and sit down.” Elrond led the way over to his desk and busied himself clearing away some of the books and scrolls which littered its polished surface. Glorfindel followed rather reluctantly. Having just bathed, and thus been given enough time to mull over the events of the past few days, he really only wished to be left alone. Still, he sat, eyes idly following the Lord of Imladris as he strode over to his own private liquor cabinet and produced a bottle of rich brown whiskey.

“We drink wine at meal times, and mead during the day. But such times call for something with a little more bite, don't you agree?” He commented, placing a tumbler before the Lord of the Golden Flower and pouring a generous helping. He put some.in his own glass and then he sat, hands steepled before him, patiently waiting.  

Glorfindel eyed the drink, and then his host. It was easy to forget how young Elrond was, even for one who had spent years in the company of his grandparents. He had a countenance and a manner befitting one of the kings of old. Yet at times his few centuries, and indeed even his humanity, showed through.

_ Pour me some strong liquor in hopes I'll start talking about my feelings, because you don't want to ask yourself. _

As though hearing his thoughts Elrond shifted in his chair ( _ Such a human gesture. The Eldar are not prone to fidgeting.) _ , grey eyes darting from the glass to the warrior seated opposite. He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when Glorfindel finally raised his whiskey. 

“ _ Almien _ .” Muttered the knight, swallowing it all in one fell mouthful. His fair face twisted as the fiery liquid singed his innards, and his nostrils flared as he huffed the sting away.

“ _ Almien _ !” Responded the scholar, sipping his own drink carefully. It was a good whiskey; he had purchased a whole crate of it from a passing group of Dwarves some fifty years prior and this was the last bottle. He would have to find some more, if they still made it.

His glass was mostly full, but Glorfindel’s was empty, so he reached over and poured his friend another. Glorfindel actually took a moment to sniff it this time before taking a long draught. He swirled half a glassful about on his tongue, tasting it, savouring it before swallowing with a satisfied “ _ Hm _ ”.

“I didn't take you for much of a drinker, Elrond.” He said. “I certainly wouldn't have thought you were keeping the likes of this in your study.”

“I'm not.” Elrond admitted. “Truth be told, if Celebrian had not convinced me I probably never would have let this past my lips. I'm glad she did though - it's a very nice one.”

“It is. Not too harsh.”

“Erebor’s finest.”

Glorfindel drained his glass once more and reached for the bottle himself now. He filled his drink to the brim before topping up Elrond’s.

“Still, I don't drink very much, as you said.” Elrond prodded his tumbler uncertainly. “And I wonder how much we'll have to consume before you start talking.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “As much as it takes for me to get my thoughts in order.”

“If that is your goal I'm afraid I've selected the wrong beverage.”

The Lord of the Golden Flower laughed out loud before sipping carefully at his overflowing whiskey. He peered at Elrond thoughtfully before saying: “Tuor was a sloppy drunk, you know that?”

The mention of his grandfather clearly piqued Elrond’s interest, and he tipped the rim of his glass against his lip thoughtfully. “He was?”

“Yes. I remember a time, a few years before the Orc’s son betrayed us, Tuor tried to finish off a whole bottle of Sindarian sherry by himself and got into a fistfight with Maeglin.”

“He did?” It was hard to read Elrond’s expression. Sorrow? Delight? Pride?

“He broke his nose.”

“He  _ did?”  _ Delight this time.

“Of course Turgon gave him a right talking-to. And Idril did not speak to him for nigh on a month. But he insisted it was worth it.”

“What was the fight about?”

Glorfindel turned the ring on his left hand about. An anxious habit of his. “To this day I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Elrond allowed himself a small laugh. The image of his grandfather tussling on the floor of the King's Tower with Maeglin was an amusing one. “I'd love to hear more about him. And Idril of course. But we both know that's not what I invited you to talk about.” 

A sigh. More twisting of that gold band on his finger. Its blue stone glinted with every nudge. “I know. You want me to talk about  _ her _ .”

“About Kri, yes.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Whatever you like. That's what the whiskey is for.”

A long, drawn out minute in which Glorfindel seemed to retreat back into his own mind. Outside an owl hooted, and he looked to the sound. Could he see it? All the way out there in the trees? 

“She called me the Hero of Gondolin.” He said. “But I could not save her.”

“We do not know that she is dead -”

“Please, do not try to soothe me with such thoughts. Alive or dead, I failed.”

“Is that what you're upset about, that you could not live up to your title?”

“No!” He exclaimed. “And also yes.” 

“Speak plainly.”

“When I first looked upon her, I knew I must make it my duty to protect her. I felt it in my very bones.” Glorfindel explained. “In her face was written my doom - I should either keep her safe or die trying. Not only did I allow her to walk headfirst into danger, despite the foreboding in my heart, I was careless enough with her to lose her even as she was holding my hand! It is true as they said in the old days; those of us who seek such things late in life only bring misfortune on ourselves and those we love.”

“I never believed such talk. And I do not believe it now. Truly, I believe it is a measure of your grief that these old folk tales enter your thoughts.” Elrond remarked. “And if you would allow me to say so, I will tell you I do not accept that Kri is lost.”

“And why is that?”

“Celebrian has seen the two of you together.” He told him. “And she saw no misfortune, only happiness.”

It took some moments for these words to sink in, but the effect on the Lord of the Golden Flower was dramatic. He seemed to sit up where there had been no semblance of slouching, and a fire ignited in his eyes. “But no… she must be mistaken.”

“You doubt her gifts?” 

“No, Lord Elrond, never. But perhaps she only caught a glimpse of our short time together.”

“I assure you, she did not.”

Glorfindel knew not to probe further, instead choosing to laugh. “Oh, but you have wounded me with hope. If she is not gone, then she is suffering with that  _ thing _ , and I have no means to help.” 

“Not true. When Mirthrandir comes he is sure to aid us. I have no doubt he possesses the power to oust this beast.”

“Oh, but it pains me to leave her there.”

“I know.” 


	13. Chapter 13

“You had best tell me what is going on before Lord Glorfindel loses his reason.” Gandalf urged, setting his wine down on the desk. Beside him, Glorfindel opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by a wave of the wizard’s gnarled hand. “Don't waste your breath, my friend. You've been fiddling with that ring for the past hour. Don't think I haven't seen. And I know you only do that when you're either very excited or very upset. You haven't touched your drink, so it must be the latter.”

The Lord of the Golden Flower slouched in his seat, defeated. Celebrian stood up, removing Arwen from her lap. The girl, who had been playing with a particularly gorgeous Dwarven puzzlebox (a gift from Gandalf, of course), complained loudly, stamping her feet.

“None of that!” Celebrian scolded, shooing her out of the room. “We've important matters to discuss with Mirthrandir. He can teach you how to solve it later. Now why don't you find little Roswyn and play a little?” 

Arwen let out a cry of protest, but was silenced by a gesture from Gandalf. “Go on, little one. Perhaps you and Roswyn can solve it together. Then I would be mightily impressed.”

The Elf-child, struck with sudden inspiration, hugged the toy to her chest and dashed off. 

“Just try not to break it!” Gandalf called after her. 

“You spoil her, Mithrandir.” Elrond critiqued. “How much did that box cost?”

“Only a favour, I assure you.” Gandalf replied. “And so what if I spoil her? Such a well-behaved child deserves to be treated, don't you agree?”

Celebrian prodded her husband teasingly, and he grumbled his agreement. 

Glorfindel, having waited long enough, sat forward. Gandalf turned to him and sighed. “But really, what has you so impatient? I can't remember ever seeing you like this.”

“Do be kind to him, Mithrandir. He has lost someone dear.” Celebrian said gently. “We wish you could relax and enjoy your time here, but I'm afraid we must ask for your help instead.”

“What is this?” He tilted his head in curiosity. “Do tell.”

So they laid the story before him, from the moment the villagers first appeared at their doorstep, to the moment Glorfindel and the twins returned from the wood for the second time, with the former wearing an expression of utmost heartbreak. And for the first time Glorfindel told them all that had happened in Kri’s little cottage, which caused the wizard much amusement and the knight much pain. 

Celebrian also spoke openly about her time with their guest, all the while glancing apologetically at Glorfindel, who had hung his head in his misery. Indeed, he seemed so wounded that Mithrandir placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing sympathetically. 

When they were done, Gandalf produced a pipe from somewhere in his robes. He took his time about filling and lighting it, during which Glorfindel looked ready to shake him. He then sipped at his wine, smiling.

“An Olari. What a pleasant surprise.” He finally said. “Though I am as much troubled by her fate as you all.”

“You know of them?” Elrond deduced.

“Of them _ ,  _ I know.”

“What can you tell us about these people?” Asked Celebrian.

“No more than what this Kri has already said, I'm afraid.”

“Then she told us the truth?” Glorfindel replied.

“As far as I can tell, yes.”

“Are they not Children of Iluvatar, then?” Elrond guessed. “Since you do not know them?”

“Oh they are. But as Kri told you, they are a hybrid race of confusing origin.” Gandalf explained. “I heard of them in the Music, though I did not sing their Song.”

“I do not understand.”

“My dear Elrond, the Music was sung by a choir singing in a thousand harmonies. I sang of Middle Earth, because this is my place. Others sang of Harad, and Rhun, of places I cannot recall. Perhaps the Valar could follow every voice and story, but I could not. Hence I know but a little of the world beyond these lands.”

“If they are Children of Iluvatar.” Glorfindel cut in. “Are they also subjects of the Valar?”

“Yes, though they call them by other names.”

“Do… do they have a place in Aman?” 

Gandalf frowned, and the hope drained from Glorfindel’s expression. When he responded, it was barely more than a whisper: “That I cannot tell you. For I do not know.” 

The Lord of the Golden Flower seemed fit to weep at this. Instead he simply insisted: “You will help her Mithrandir. You must.”

“I am not certain I can. But I will try.” The wizard concurred.

Elrond coughed. “What of the creature that took her? Can you tell us about him?”

“Yes,  _ him. _ ” Gandalf thought for a moment. “It is either a dryad, a man trained in powerful magic, or a maiar.”

Celebrian sighed. “You cannot tell?”

“Not for certain.” He answered. “I can only observe that his magic seems too strong for any man, and too weak for that of a Valar’s.”

“A dryad, then”

“Perhaps.”

“And how do we kill him?” Glorfindel growled. “I'm not sure we can, my friend”

“Then what should we do!”

“We should try of course. Go to the wood, set a fire under him. Hack the elm tree open and pry him out if we can. If he can overpower an Olari sorceress, Eru knows what he could do to common folk.” Gandalf drained his glass. “He must be stopped.”

At this Glorfindel became animated, and sprang from his seat. “Yes, he must! And we must go at once -”

“No, Lord Glorfindel.” Gandalf stood up and caught him by the arm. “We must prepare. We must gather a host to march on the wood. And you, the Hero of Gondolin, must  _ get some sleep. _ ”

Glorfindel coloured at this reprimand, but as Gandalf spoke, he once again placed a loving hand on his friend’s shoulder, and finally he laughed. To Celebrian, it seemed all of his sorrow, anger, weariness, and fears were encased in that one sound, and she herself reached out to grasp her husband’s hand. 

“You are right as always, Mithrandir.” The golden-haired one admitted. “I must not be careless. It would do her no good.” 


	14. Chapter 14

Gandalf leaned against the trunk of a slender ash, listening to the eerie silence emanating from the heart of the wood. To the others he seemed relaxed, simply loitering under the half-clad branches, eyes closed, but his mind was alive with all that he observed. 

Presently, Elrond strode to his side. He almost made some jest about sleeping standing up, but was fell silent at the wizard’s expression. Concerned, frowned, and tuned into the trees’ song.

“I do not like this.” The old man said.

“What?”

“Listen.”

“I hear nothing.”

“ _ Exactly.  _ Not a bird, nor a squirrel, not a fox nor badger. Even the insects are nowhere to be found. Nothing, save the whisper of the trees.”

“What do they say?”

“Not anything of consequence. It… it is as though they cannot see us. Or have chosen not to.”

“Why would that be?”

Gandalf shrugged and quietened, squinting ahead. Elrond copied him.

“No, I do not like this at all.” He repeated. “Lord Glorfindel?”

A few feet away, the Lord of the Golden Flowers was instructing the Sons of Elrond in hushed tones. He started salt his name and excused himself, jogging over to the two.

“Mithrandir?”

“You, Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrian should come with me.” Gandalf instructed. “Lord Elrond, please tell your sons to divide their soldiers to two parties and follow in succession.”

Elrond nodded and hurried off. 

“What are you going to do, Mithrandir?” Glorfindel asked. 

“I do not know as of yet, but you must promise me this, friend: trust me, do not give in to rash feelings,  _ but _ if you see an opportunity to save your maiden, seize it.”

“I give you my word, on all terms.” The Elf swore. “But how will I know-”

“You will know.”

 

Mithrandir was right, the trees were uncommonly silent. Not only them, but it felt as though every living thing had abandoned this place. Had there been animals here before? A sparrow, a mouse, even a fly? Glorfindel failed to recall.  Even if not the air was different today; so still it was suffocating. Even his boots seemed to fall soundless on the newly-sodden earth. 

He was up to something. That  _ saure.  _ That devil. Did he have her somewhere in the darkened recesses of this place. Was she frightened? Was he hurting her? 

_ How does one kill such a thing? _

Mithrandir was saying something, pointing.  _ There! That's the one! _ Twisted and bent, with hewn bark and creeping roots. A darkness fell across his heart and he marched toward it. Elrond stepped into his path and he shouldered him aside. There came a shout,  then hands, hands. He tried to throw them off, but they were overpowering him. 

_ I am the Hero of Gondolin!  _

“Lord Glorfindel control yourself!” Mithrandir struck him,  _ hard _ , across the cheek, and he jolted out of his dream. 

But no. They were holding him l, all three of them, and his knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. 

“What did I do?”

“Nothing, Elrond caught you before you had a chance.”

“But what -”

“The being in that elm wants you to attack it.” Gandalf told him. “Either it wants to get you under its eaves so it can have you alone, or it wants an excuse to kill all of us.”

“Actually, I just want  _ him _ .”

At once the woods seemed to shift around them, swaying and creaking to either side. Some trees even disappeared completely, until the overgrown remains of a cottage came into view, and nothing stood between them and the elm. As they stood there, the branches shivered aside, revealing the great seam in the tree’s trunk, which broke open with a thundering  _ Crack.  _ From the darkened void within stepped a figure robed in leaves and moss. His hair was a tangled mess of twigs, and his limbs were banded in vines. He he smiled a pointed smile and bowed.

“Welcome, dear Elves. Welcome,  dear Mithrandir. What is your business in my wood?”

Before Glorfindel could, react, Gandalf put himself between them. He bowed, and Elrond and Celebrian followed suit. 

“Hail, dear dryad.” He said. “If you know who we are, then you know our business here.” 

“I would prefer if you told me yourselves.”

Gandalf scowled. “The sorceress Kri. You keep her here, and we would have her freed. We are willing to aid her by force, if necessary,  though we would prefer not to.”

“Kri.” The dryad echoed. “My dear Kri Ni Ioran. Whatever could you want with her?”

“We wish to see her freed.” Celebrian replied.

“Why? She belongs here.” He said. “She is my wife, after all.”

They exchanged doubtful looks, and Glorfindel stepped forward, unable to restrain himself any longer. “You lie!”

Anger flashed across the dryad’s face, and his smile soured. “So you are the one who took her! Oh, I remember that voice!”

“I did not take her! She came of her own volition!”

The creature laughed a quivering cackle. “You think I did not see the soldiers that seized her? Or hear her shouts. You took her, and you kept her. I only reclaimed what is mine.”

“But where is she? Is she safe?” Gandalf pressed.

“Quite so, she is sleeping.” He shifted so that they might look past him to the tree, and Celebrian gasped. There, in the gap from which he had emerged, one could see a bronzed arm, and a hint of snowy hair. At once Glorfindel started, and seemed ready to run to her, but Gandalf threw out his arm. Not in time though; the creature saw, and his expression contorted into one of unbridled wrath. 

“ _ Not another step, Elf!”  _ He roared, pointing accusingly.  _ “You shall not have her!” _

“Release her dryad, that is an order.” Gandalf pressed, his expression fell.

“ _ Why should I? She is my wife!”  _

“I shall not repeat myself.”

“ _ I will not let you have her! She is my wife! Mine, I say. I SAW HER FIRST!” _

His voice took up and unnatural volume, and the wood around them quailed. From his arms and legs sprang writhing tendrils, which shot across the clearing to seize them. A flash of blinding light, and Gandalf's cloak fell away as he raised his staff. The vines flopped down, helpless, and the dryad was knocked back, stunned. 

“Go! Now!” Barked the wizard.

Glorfindel sprinted to the elm, ignoring the curses of the fiend. There was her hand! He seized it with one hand and thrust the other into the hollow of the tree to catch her waist. “Kri?” She neither moved nor answered. “Please…”

He pulled her out and laid her across his lap as he knelt. He touched her arms and her face, finally bending to listen at her breast. Someone touched his shoulder and he jumped.

Celebrian.

“My Lady, she...she is cold!”

Celebrian knelt next to him and took Kri’s hand. Frowning, she felt her brow.

“By the Valar, she is so cold.” Glorfindel unfastened his cloak and wrapped her in it, cradling her to his chest. “My Lady she is pale. She is cold. I listened and heard no stirring of her heart. She is -”

“No.” Celebrian said. “She is alive. There is some spell upon her, but she lives. Come, let us take her from this place.”

The dryad, who was now ensnared in his own vines, let out a hideous scream. Whether there were words in it Glorfindel could not tell, but it needed none. He watched, clutching Kri close as the creature strained against his bonds. Gandalf, standing nearby, wiped the sweat from his brow as he continued to chant his spell. The thing lunged at Glorfindel, reaching with its pointed fingers, fighting off the tendrils holding him down. 

Perhaps he would have broken free, if not for Celebrian. Perhaps those hands would have wrapped around Glorfindel’s neck, snapping it like a twig, had she not taken his sword from his very belt. Perhaps he would have killed them all had she not driven the blade straight through his heart. 

The dryad groaned, black ooze bubbling from his mouth. Celebrian wrinkled her nose at the smell of it, withdrawing Glorfindel’s sword as the beast hunched over its wound. As they observed, it seemed to darken, it's sickly skin turning to old bark, and it tumbled forward, twitching on the ground as it transformed. Until all that was left was a piece of dead wood in the shape of a man. 

The elm buckled and splintered behind them,  leaves falling from its branches in a flurry of reds and yellows. Then with a cacophony of tearing the bole split in two, and its crown fell to the ground.

“Well, I believe that does it.” Gandalf remarked. 

Elrond hurried to his wife and, taking a cloth from his pocket, wiped at the ‘blood’ on her face. Celebrian laughed. “ _ Eru,  _ it stinks.”

He smiled and kissed her. “It is your penance for doing something so rash.”

“But I killed it.” She eyed the lump in the grass. “Didn't I, Mithrandir?”

Gandalf prodded it with his toe, turning it over. “I believe so. But what of the lady, Lord Glorfindel?”

The Lord of the Golden Flower examined Kri’s face. Still she showed no signs of life. He shook his head.

“Let's get her to Imladris.” Elrond suggested. “There is nothing we can do for her here, not without the proper tools.”


	15. Chapter 15

Celebrian softly wiped Kri’s face and arms with a damp cloth. She was no longer hot. No, now she burned with a raging fever, and though she did not wake, she sometimes murmured in her dreams.

Lord Glorfindel sat by the bed. Having given her water and brushed out her tangled locks, he now pressed another cloth to her forehead and whispered to her as he ran his fingers through her hair. Celebrian knew not to listen, but smiled at what she heard.

“When will she wake?” He asked her suddenly, looking up. 

“I cannot say.” She replied. “Elrond and Mithrandir sat up with her all night, but could find no reason for her fever. Even so, I think she is better than this morning. I could not make her drink before, and she's speaking more clearly.”

“Dream-speak.”

“It is better than none at all.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. Celebrian patted his back soothingly. She had never known him to give in to sorrow like this. Even in the darkest of times, he had always found reason to laugh and sing. He had not attended dinner since they had come back, nor could he be seen among their guests at night. Instead he had taken to sitting alone, either here, or in his chambers, or in the gardens. The other residents had seen this and asked after him, some even tried to speak to him, but found no answer either way. 

“You should eat something, Glorfindel.” Celebrian urged. “She would not like to see you like this.”

He grunted and eyed the platter sitting untouched on the side table. She nudged him and he took up a piece of bread, chewing on it lethargically as he gazed at Kri.

“Why don't you read to her?”

“Huh?”

“This is an ailment of the spirit, my lord, and it has infected you as surely as she.” Celebrian elaborated. “If you read something pleasant to her, you may both be able to forget your sorrows awhile.”

“What should I read?”

“I still have a few stories that Arwen loved when she was small. Nice ones with happy endings. You could borrow them.”

“Ah yes, where the knight rescues the princess and they live together happily ever after.”

“The very sort of tale you both could do with.”

 

So he took to reading to her awhile every day. And though Kri seemed to remain unchanged, the improvement in the Lord of the Golden Flower was dramatic. Once again he graced the people of Imladris with his presence, eating with them at mealtimes, and dancing with them in Elrond’s halls. The shadow never quite lifted from his face, but he was more and more himself as the days passed.

Every night he lay by her to dream, and in the day he sat by her to read and fret. But when he spoke to her now he did so with a smile, taking her hand and kissing her face now and then. It was thusly that he discovered her temperature had dropped back to normal, and her palms were no longer clammy.

“She will wake soon, I'm sure of it!” He announced to Celebrian, who took Kri’s hand herself to check. The Lady let out a delighted laugh and kissed her cheek.

“You have done well, my lord!” 

So they arranged for the room to be straightened, and Celebrian hung some of her smaller works upon the walls. Glorfindel ordered pots for the veranda and fille d  them with flowers himself when he was not by her side with a book.

 

And when, one afternoon, she smiled at some jest he made about the Smith of Wootton Major, he near wept with joy. The book hit the floor as he leaned over her.

“Did you hear me?” He brushed her cheek lightly with his thumb. “Do you like this one? There are dozens more like this in Celebrian’s library. And others besides. Maybe I could show you, when you wake up.” He shed tears now, and pressed his forehead to hers. “You will wake up, won't you? Soon?”

She made a small noise, and turned onto her side so that she faced him. Glorfindel kissed her outstretched hand, holding it between his two. But she did nothing more, and he sighed, retrieving the book from at his feet.

“Well, I suppose we ought to finish this.”

 

Outside, a nightingale chirped, its song reaching a crescendo loud enough to fill the whole valley. In the house of Elrond, the Lord of the Golden Flower slept as deep as a man where he lay, his left arm holding her close. Still, he did not respond when she stirred; not even when she turned in his embrace to huddle against his chest.

“How long have you waited here,” She whispered. “For you to slumber so?” 

If she woke him now, what would he do? Retreat, apologising all the way? Hold her tighter? Kiss her?

_ But this is just right _ . She thought, pressing her palms to his his chest, feeling the taut muscle of his stomach through the thin cotton of his tunic. She closed her eyes.  _ This is all I need. _

The next morning was bright and fine, and Glorfindel sat outside among the newly-planted blossoms breaking his fast. The glass doors behind him were flung open wide to allow some fresh air into the bedroom. In the bed, Kri stirred, and for once he did not hear it. She smiled, seeing him silhouetted in the yellow-gold light of midmorning, and summoned her strength.

Her legs were weak, unused, and it took her an age to stand. Like a child learning to walk, she tentatively put one foot forward, then the next, shuffling slowly across the room. 

There was a step up to the doors, and of course she tripped on it, throwing her hand against frame to catch herself and swearing, thoroughly ruining the surprise. 

“My lady, please take care!” Glorfindel was on his feet, and moved to steady her. There came a pause. “Oh, but you are awake!”

“It would seem so.” She rasped. He helped her into a chair and forced a cup of water into her hands. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, not long.”

Kri took in the food on the table, and the pile of books besides. “I see..”

Glorfindel seated himself beside her. Laying his hand on hers, he asked: “But what of you? Are you well enough to be out of bed?”

“For the moment, yes.”

“Are you hungry? You can help yourself.” He pushed his plate toward her. She made a face. “Or I could send for something else?”

“No, really. I don't think I could stomach a morsel.”

“Do you feel ill? Do you need Lord Elrond? Or Mithrandir?”

“No I -” Kri faltered. “Mithrandir is here?”

“Yes, he helped us to free you.”

“Free me…” Her mind recalled the darkness, the fear, the hopelessness. “How long was I gone?”

“Well nigh a month.” He replied. “If it's not too soon: did he harm you?”

She nodded. “Yes he… he did. In the beginning, when I still had the will to resist. Once I stopped he changed.”

“Changed how?” 

“He said the nicest things. He told me he loved me more times than I could could. He was gentle. He brought me gifts.” 

“Did he ever let you out?”

“Oh no, never. He could never do that.”

“I'm sorry.” He blurted. “I wanted to return sooner. I knew, somehow in my heart I knew you were in pain. But Elrond said to wait for Mithrandir and -”

“Elrond was right.” She interjected. “If you had come without Mithrandir he would have killed you all. He thought Mithrandir would take his side, you know. He thought he would let him kill you.”

“I would rather die than leave you like that!”

“And what good would that have done me?” She spat. “If you had died, I would still be stuck in that tree. Possibly forever. I would have been stuck with him, and he could have…”

She closed her eyes and drew a few long breaths. When had she started crying? All she knew was he wiped her tears away. He whispered apologies as he covered her face with kisses. She knew she was gripping his arms hard enough but he said nothing of it. It was all so much that when his lips touched hers she shoved him away.

“ _ Don't!”  _ He fell back into his seat, clearly shocked. She put a hand to her mouth, mind full of the sensation. “Please don't do that. Not right now. Not so soon after…”

“I'm sorry.” He breathed. “I won't. I didn't think. Perhaps I should go?”

“No!” She closed her eyes against her muddled thoughts. “I'm not angry with you. I'm not upset with you. None of  _ this  _ is because of you. I still want you to stay here.”

“Yes. Of course.” He held her hands again. “Anything, Kri. I'll do anything. Just name it.”

“Talk to me, Glorfindel. I just want to hear your voice.”


	16. Chapter 16

Fingers brushed her arm, and she jumped. Celebrian appeared at her side, apologising profusely, and she internally chastised herself.

“No, it's fine. I'm fine, really.” Kri insisted, closing her hand over the lady’s. “I suppose I let my mind wander.”

“Where did it go?” 

Kri shook her head. She was done talking about it. Had come down out of her room to distract herself. She refused to circle back to that noxious cage of memories. 

Celebrian understood. Celebrian had heard it all, including the things she hadn't said. Right now Celebrian was her only solace.

Glorfindel had tried -  _ oh how he had tried  _ -to convince her to tell him, to say the words. But she couldn't. Not yet. And he didn't understand. Despite what she told him he still blamed himself. There was shame clinging to him fit to rival her own, and it had rent a gulf between them. They still spoke, and he still visited her, and was there to hold her whenever she asked, but it was not the same care-free flirtation they had previously enjoyed.

Celebrian assured that this, among other things, would get better, and she chose to believe her. But in truth she knew she needed an escape. Not for good. Just for now. 

“Would you like some wine?” Celebrian was already holding out a glass, which Kri took and sipped robotically. “He is rather jovial this evening, isn't he?”

“Hmm?” Kri had been staring at Glorfindel without knowing it. “Oh. Yes. It seems so.”

He did. As he talked and joked with two of the bards he looked just like his old self. But then he caught her eye, and the laughter faded from his face. He replaced it with the same forlorn smile he treated her to whenever they spoke. Kri pursed her lips, remembering how he had tried to kiss her.

_ Does he remember? How I pushed him away?  _

She examined the contents of her glass, and when she looked up again he had turned away. Celebrian, having witnessed this exchange, frowned. “It is nothing, my dear. Time will heal such wounds.”

“But will it ever be the same?”

“No,” The lady said. “No, it will be different. Less innocent. And all the more real.”

Kri did not quite understand, but she knew Celebrian was gifted with foresight, like her mother. Thus her words comforted her. 

“May we go outside awhile?”

The lady took her arm and together they stepped out into the gardens. Here they sat while, speaking as she once had with Glorfindel about the blossoms and the trees, until Kri’s energy seemed to seep away, and Celebrian stood. “Take some time, as you need it. I will be inside.”

Kri nodded her thanks, grateful to be left alone, if only for a moment. She closed her eyes and listened to the night, enjoying her wine in utter tranquility. She near fell asleep.

“May I join you?” She spun around at the sound of his voice.  _ Mithrandir _ . He had spoken to her just a little in the weeks since she had woken, and while he was kind Kri found that she was just the slightest bit afraid of him. “I'm sorry if I startled you, and if you would rather be alone of course I understand -”

“Please, sit.” She invited, patting the bench next to her. He bowed and accepted, grumbling about the creaking of his limbs and why the Valar had chosen to give him such an old body. He held a bottle of wine in one hand, and she happily received a glassful. He also had a tin of pipweed, which she politely declined. He quietly filled his pipe as she watched and took a good long puff when he was done, producing a smoke ring that floated off to hang from the branch of one of the nearby saplings. She laughed and followed another as it sailed over to another tree.

“You know, I will be leaving in a week’s time, and I don't believe we've had the pleasure of having a proper chat.” He said.

“No, we haven't.”

“I've always been curious about your people. About the Olari.”

“Really?” She responded. “I thought you would know all about us.”

“Elrond assumed the same, but no. Perhaps the Valar know you, but not us. It is not our place to know all.”

“Are we a part of His Plan, then?”

“I believe so.” Mithrandir assured her. “Even if I'm wrong in that, it matters not. Iluvatar did not plan the Dwarves, either. Or the Ents. But still he loves them as his own.”

“Do you think you have a place in Aman?”

“Anyone with a pure heart has a place in Aman, child.”

“But you have never seen us?”

“No.”

“I see.”

“This troubles you, that I do not know?”

“It does.”

“Did it trouble you before you met Lord Glorfindel?”

“I'm sorry?”

Mirthrandir chuckled. “I am not blind, my dear, and I have known the Lord of the Golden Flower a long time. I can see the change in him since he met you. And I can see the way you look at one another.”

She forced a smile. “Yes, of course. But I wondered about my fate before I met him. It's just… before it did not matter to me whether I went to Aman or went out of this world. Now I find myself in the midst of a crisis.”

“Is this why you keep him at arm’s length?”

Again his question caught her off guard. She had not kept him away before, had she?

_ Oh, but you did.  _

“I suppose. To a certain extent.”

“Yet you know the tales of our land. Of the Halfelven?”

“I know the stories, yes. And I know that the Elves in those stories were forced to make a choice. If I must leave this world and Glorfindel choses me -”

“He will have chosen himself, rather than have had some fate thrust upon him.” Mithrandir concluded rather sternly. “Glorfindel has dwelt in this world for millenia. He has faced foes you cannot imagine, watched whole cities burn, lost friends and family alike. I assure you, he understands the consequences of his choice, and he has still chosen you. You could deny him of course, but we both know you would be hurting two people rather than one.”

“I understand.” She replied. “And I would take your advice gladly. But at the moment…”

“At the moment you cannot. I understand. You are healing.” He tapped the ashes out of his pipe. “And you should take all the time you need. But please don't push him away. It only makes you both more miserable.”

“I don't want to push him away.” She sighed. “I want to  _ go  _ away.”

“To leave?”

“Not for good, but yes.”

“Where would you go?”

“I do not know. There is so much of this land I have not seen. Anywhere.”

He gave a long  _ Hmmm _ as he cleaned his pipe, considering her. “I am going west soon. Not true West, you understand, but as far as the Sea. You are welcome to join me, if you want?”

“West… what is west of here?”

“Well, the Grey Havens and the Shire, to start.” He answered. “I have some folk to visit, including Cirdan” 

“Can you give me some time to think about it?”

“I can, but not too much. And whatever you choose, be sure to let Glorfindel and Celebrian know.”

“Yes, I understand.”

 

“I think you should go.” Celebrian said at length. “I see that being here has healed you as much as it can. What plagues you know is a wound of the spirit, one that demands time to yourself. While you are here neither Glorfindel nor I can promise you that, because we love you, and we wish to comfort you.”

“But I won't be alone. Mithrandir will be there.”

“All the better.” She remarked. “He knows what to say to move one's heart. Yet he also knows when to say nothing. He can guide you and protect you.”

“Hmm.” Kri mused. “But I am anxious.”

“But you said yourself you wanted to see more of the world.”

“I did.” 

“Well, here is your chance, and it could not have come at a better time.” Celebrian took her hand. “Fate has brought you this opportunity; it might not do so again.”

Kri nodded. “How will I tell Glorfindel?”

“Just speak truly. He will understand. If not right away, then in time. And though it may pain him, I assure you he will not stop you.”

 

He entered when called, creeping quietly round the door like a cat. He had a bad habit of doing that now. It was like he was checking to see what she was like this day. Mentally preparing himself for the conversation - or lack thereof - ahead.

He had not expected to find her packing. That much was clear. His face fell, and he flung the door wide, standing stockstill on the threshold. 

“Come in. Close the door.” She instructed. “Please.”

He wavered, looking like he wanted to turn and flee. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he visibly steeled himself before complying. 

“You are leaving.” 

He sounded so weak. So afraid. His voice barely brushed her ears. He did not sit or move to touch her as usual. She thought he looked like a deer facing into a hunter's bow, but of course she could not tell him. This was no time for jests. 

“Yes.” She confirmed. “Just for a while.”

“Oh.” His gaze followed her to and fro as she slowly filled the few bags laid out on the bed. “When will you be back?”

Kri paused, looking into the rolled bundle of clothes. “I do not know.”

“Then it is not ‘just for a while’, is it?” He winced. She frowned at him. “I'm sorry, I did not mean to say that so harshly.”

“It's fine.”

“But where are you going?”

“West. With Mithrandir.”

“Mithrandir.” He relaxed. “Well, I am glad to know you will be safe.”

Glorfindel picked up some stockings and started to match them. They smiled at one another, then carried on in silence for a while. “If Mithrandir is taking you, you could be gone for well over a year.” He mentioned. 

“Yes, Elrond said as much. He told me he tends to wander.”

“There's a fine line between wandering and getting lost.”

She laughed. “You think we'll end up in no-man's land?”

“You might end up back home.” 

“Well, I could do with the journey.”

He studied her. “Yes, I suppose I can understand that. Just don't let him lead you into one of his schemes.”

“Might be fun if he did.”

He chuckled this time, closing the saddlebag over. “Kri...I've been thinking about going away as well.”

Her heart stuttered. “Where?”

“East.” He replied. “To my sister's kin in Eryn Galen.”

“Sister?” She exclaimed. “I never knew you had a sister.”

“I did. She passed away. In the Second Age.” Explained Glorfindel. “Her son rules there now.”

“I see.”

“If…” He hesitated. “If you wish. Perhaps you could join me there. After you're through wandering.”

“Yes.” She answered. “I would like to see the Great Wood.”

“And what of me?”

She failed to restrain her grin. “Yes, I suppose that would be nice as well.”

“Then I shall wait for you there.” Glorfindel took both of her hands then, and kissed them. “Namarie.”

Without thinking, Kri stood on tiptoe, captured his lips in a gentle kiss. She heard him draw his breath with a hiss, fingers twining with hers. When he kissed her back it was sweet and uncertain, hardly moving for fear of scaring her.

“Namarie.” She breathed. “ _ Namarie… namarie…”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm taking some liberties with Glorfindel now. One of the main theories behind his lineage is that he is somehow related to Indis. He was close with Turgon and therefore followed him to Beleriand.  
> This makes him possibly the only pure Vanyar East of the Sea. But, in the books Thranduil is described as having 'golden hair's. This would be very strange for an Elf of pure Sindarian/Silvan descent, but what if he was part Vanyar?   
> So basically I've made up a possible sister for Glorfindel who married Oropher and hence produced the 'golden-haired' king of Mirkwood.


	17. Chapter 17

Duvah shook herself out and stretched her neck to yawn. It had been a long day for all of them, and even Mirthrandir was beginning to nod in his saddle. Kri rolled her stiff shoulders, taking her feet out of her stirrups to let them hang long. 

“How much farther?” She groaned, bending down to massage her knotted calf.

“We're just about there.” He replied groggily. “The trees stop up there, then we go downhill. In fact you should be able to see the village in a minute.”

She did: a large cluster of homes balanced on the crown of a wide, round hill. It was easily twice the size of what had grown up next to the Wood. And had an interesting dynamic. It was, strictly speaking two towns. The one on top sported the big, square homes of Men, while the lights burning near the bottom of the slope belonged to what Mithrandir referred to as the ‘Halflings’,  a folk Kri had never heard of, and was eager to get a look at.

“There we are!” He announced. “Breton and Breehill. Sit up, my girl, you'll be in your bed soon!”

_ Bed. _ The word was music to her ears. She had been sleeping rough for well over a fortnight, and sported dents in her back to prove it. She was tired and sore and she stank. From this viewpoint, the muddy hamlet ahead looked like bliss. 

 

The road passed around the foot of the slope before turning sharply in, giving her a good look at the little homes all lined up nicely. As Mithrandir had already told her, the Halflings were fond of burrowing, and had dug down into the hill to make their homes. Outside were their gardens and vegetable patches, and they shared the surrounding farmland with their larger neighbours, albeit begrudgingly. Looking at the round, colourful doors and lush flowers around them Kri became more forlorn with each passing step. 

“Can we not stay with the Little Folk, Mithrandir?”

He laughed. “I am afraid not, my dear. They have a healthy fear of outsiders, you see. And besides, they would have a hard time looking for beds fit for the two of us.” Turning around, he saw her expression. “Now, now, don't sulk. We shall visit them on the morrow. But look! Some have come out!”

As he spoke a figure appeared at one of the fences, and peered over at the two strangers. Kri smiled at him. “Hello.”

A curly head of hair ducked out of sight. His neighbour, just a few doors down, was braver, and stood on his front steps to glare at them as he chewed tobacco loudly. He did not answer Kri’s greeting. The next to peek out - a stout woman with four children hanging out of her - slammed the door as soon as the sorceress spoke. 

“Do not be disheartened. There's young Pod. Try him.” Mithrandir told her.

A young lad was sitting on a bench in front of one of the houses smoking. He sat up straight as they approached, grinning. 

“Good evening.” Kri ventured.

He stood up to bow. “And good evening to you, miss! Good evening, Gandalf!”

“Good evening, Pod!”

“‘Gandalf’?” 

“It is what they call me.”

“How many names do you have?”

“More than there are hairs on my chin?”

The next young mother offered them a quiet “Hello.” As her sons hid behind her skirt. Then the gardens ended, and the cobbles started. Ahead, a low fence kept the Men separate from the Halflings, and they passed under a crooked gatepost before they saw any new faces. Where the small folk had been fearful and unfriendly to them, the big folk were downright intimidating, swarming around their horses to scowl up at them. Some of them uttered profanities at the sight of them, or spat at their horses’ hooves. Kri brought Duvah up alongside Mirthrandir’s steed. 

“Fear not.” He said. “Just keep moving. They're harmless. For the most part.”

_ For the most part _ ?

Kri was relieved when they finally turned into a stableyard. They dismounted and handed their horses over to a jittery stableboy, who listened to Mirthrandir’s instructions fearfully and did not even look at Kri. A narrow door led into a dim tavern full of scratched tables and pipe smoke. From the opposite side of the bar a burly, middle-aged man watched them approach.

“Was wondering when you'd show up next.” He grumbled to the wizard. 

“And I missed you, my friend!”

“Who's this?” He jabbed a thumb at Kri. 

“A friend.”

“An Elf?”

“...of a sort.”

Kri blinked up at him, but said nothing. 

“You'll be needing rooms then?”

“Naturally, Ted. Are my usual ones free?”

“As always.” He produced a rusted key from a box under the bar. “All in order as well; I just had them painted last month.”

“Splendid. Order baths for myself and the lady both. And dinner! I'm famished!”

 

The rooms in question were in fact an entire suite on the western side of the inn: three bedrooms which shared a quaint living room. They were fully furnished, if not a bit worn, with the beds and armchairs covered by protective white sheets. 

They ate and drank in the main room while the owner’s sons ran up and down the stairs, first assembling the baths, and then filling them with hot water. Mithrandir supervised from afar, sometimes calling out requests or orders, until they were red in the face and quite fed up with them both. When Kri eventually asked for another towel the eldest looked fit to strangle her with it. 

The warm bath was a welcome treat. They had filled it deep, and she gladly sank down up to her neck with a contented sigh. She dunked her head under the water, working the braids out of her hair with her fingers and brushing it meticulously before washing it. Mithrandir (Gandalf?) had asked the lady of the house if she had any oils to spare, which she did not, so he sent her down to the herbalist’s to purchase some especially for Kri. When she opened the bottle the rich scent of lavender filled her nostrils, and she worked it into her dry ends. She was so dirty that she had to stand up to scrub herself with a bar of soap and a brush, rubbing her skin raw before she was satisfied enough to relax. Afterwards she sat by the window and wrote two letters: one to Celebrian and one to Glorfindel. Though they weren't all that different in content, they were different in air, and she found herself pouring more into the former. Glorfindel was still too fragile to show the inner workings of her mind, and felt too responsible for her current condition. She feared he would come galloping after her if he knew all. He was a hero after all. It was his job to rescue people. 

So she missed him, and she dared not tell him how much. In her writings she begged Celebrian to tell her of him, while she merely asked him how things fared in Imladris. Such are the small deceptions we undertake to protect the ones we love. 

Letters written, she crawled into bed, only to find that he filled her dreaming mind as much as her waking one, only here it was all much happier, here it was much much simpler. 


	18. Chapter 18

The next day was fine, with a sharp winter’s wind that cut at times. Kri, used to the cold, found it rather refreshing, though the dry air did her skin and throat no favours. She ended up wrapping a scarf around the lower half of her face, after the fashion of her people to guard against it.

This worked wonders for her rapport with the Halflings, however. For whatever reason when her face was covered they seemed less inclined to stare, and when she took off her boots to work barefoot in the muddy fields they laughed with delight. 

Mithrandir had business with the Men, it seemed. Kri could not imagine what, and had little interest in it, so when he suggested she go have a look at the lower quarters she gladly took off down the hill. As before, the little folk eyed her with suspicion when she approached, but then she started asking questions, and lugged a few boxes for the older ones, and suddenly she was the talk of the town. 

“I've never seen an Elf so dirty!” Laughed Olly, one of the younger farmers. She had told them she was an Olari, but they seemed to think that was simply some sort of exotic Elf. It didn't bother her, really, but she wondered how passing Elves might react if the Halflings suddenly started asking for them to help plant potatoes. 

Kri smiled down at him, pulling her foot out of the mud, which tried to suck it back down. “I'm just glad I had the foresight to take off my boots.”

“Awful silly things those.” He commented. “No wonder your feet are so soft! Mind you don't get blisters!”

“I won't, we usually farm barefoot at home.”

“Whatever do you farm in all that snow?”

“Mostly the same things you do,” She answered. “Only we have to plant them deeper and harvest in summer. And we always plant more than we need to make up for the ones that die.”

“Huh. What if all of them die?”

She gave him a look.

“Oh.”

“Where do you want these onions?”

“Ah, just along here should do.”

“Right.”

She set about digging up the earth, which didn't require much effort, really. Olly kept on planting beans nearby. “Olly?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“I've been looking for somewhere to get some souvenirs -”

“Some what?”

“Souvenirs.”

“What's that?”

“Um… it's like a gift you bring back to your friends after you've been away.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Well, I'm not actually sure…” She considered it. “I suppose it's to share some of a new culture with them. And to show you've missed them.”

“Why bother going away if you'll only miss your friends?”

“I don’t  _ only  _ miss my friends, Olly. I get to see different parts of the world, learn new things. And I get to meet interesting people like all of you folk.”

Olly blushed. “That's too kind, Miss. We're really not that interesting.”

“Maybe not to you. But I've never seen a Halflings before -”

“Hobbit.” He corrected. “We prefer the term ‘Hobbits', Miss.”

“Excuse me.” She said. “I've never seen Hobbits before.”

“But you said you had all sorts of people up North.” He responded. “Elves and Dwarves and all. How's it you ain't got Hobbits?”

“That's a good question.” She admitted. “I suppose none wanted to go so far north.”

Olly nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right. We're not made for such tough conditions, us.”

He stuck his thumbs under his belt and huffed. “Well if it's gifts you're looking for, I'd recommend you buy something in the Shire. That's where most Hobbits live now. A right fine country. Much nicer ‘n here. You go there and pick up some nice larger and maybe some pipe weed-”

“Oh, Elves don't smoke.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do ye eat cakes? Sweets?”

“Yes.”

“Then you'll surely find something. And they'll deliver it, too for the right cost. Why, me cousins got a shop down in Frogmorton. Tell them Olly sent you and you can be sure they'll look after you.”

“I'll look for it when we pass through, thank you.”

“Just ask after the Gogginses. Everyone knows who they are.”

 

They were sitting by the fire that night when Kri finally put the question to him.

“Mithrandir?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do people think I'm an Elf?”

“Well, you  _ do  _ look very much like one.”

“But I'm not.”

“I know that.”

“So why don't you tell them otherwise?”

“I thought you would, to be honest.” He took a sip of his sherry. “The truth is, my dear, nowadays people are afraid of the unfamiliar. I can't blame them, really, but it does make it that they want to put a label on everything. Makes them feel safer. And if calling you an Elf helps them to see that you're not a threat, I don't see any reason to stop them.”

“If I tell them I'm Olari?”

“Well, they might not be so open with you. Not at first, at least. It would take more work, and unfortunately we don't have time to make everyone understand.”

“I see.”

“Having said that; when we go to visit the Dwarves I will  _ not  _ let them think you're an Elf.”

She laughed. “Even among good folk you're protecting me!”

He winked. “Well, I promised Lord Glorfindel no less.”


	19. Chapter 19

Mithrandir insisted on taking the main road east into the Shire, which meant that they met a good few folk along their way. At every possible opportunity he would ride alongside a lone traveller, or even a whole caravan, chatting and sharing news. He introduced Kri of course, and she got better at correcting people when they called her ‘Elf’. Since she was at the wizard’s side the whole time, people met this more with curiosity than fear. Of course the few Elves they met laughed at her predicament, believing her to be as much like them as a dog is to a cat, which lightened her mood, and she gladly spoke to them about Imladris, Mithrandir, and the world beyond. 

About two days after parting with a particularly jovial Elf, they came upon their first group of Dwarves. They greeted Mithrandir with smiles, but eyed Kri suspiciously. Prepared for the inevitable exchange, she grinned back at them.

“Who's the Elfling?” Their eldest grumbled.

She laughed out loud, drawing everyone's attention. Mithrandir cocked an eyebrow. 

“Oh, Master Dwarf!” She said. “I expected better from you! Surely you can see that I am not an Elf. Why, you might as well call my horse a cow!”

A moment of silence ensued in which she wondered just how sharp those axes really were. She finally breathed again when a great, rumbling guffaw erupted from the Dwarf’s chest. 

“By the Maker, you're right, milady, and I meant no offence by it!” He chuckled. “Not a one of those stuck-up stargazers would ever speak so plainly and so truly. But I've never seen your like before, so I took to presuming. You must be far from home!”

She nodded. “You're right on that, Master. I am an Olari, from the Farthest North.”

He scratched his chin. “Olari? Never heard of them.”

“I should think not. We mostly stay under the ice.”

“That not cold?”

“No, there's heat far below, you see. And we pipe it up all up through the rock. We only go outside to hunt, really.”

“Pipes?” He mused. “What sort of pipes?”

By the time she was done explaining, they had torn through an entire roasted grouse and half a keg of mead together. Kri had drawn a diagram of the heating system as best she could and Óren folded it neatly into his pocket. From a pouch on his belt he then produced a talisman: a hammer carved from granite, hung on a string necklace. He pushed it into her hands as she tried to protest.

“No, no, no!” He slurred, squeezing her fingers down over it. “Tharkûn told me you're coming north later, and when you do, I want my folk to know you're a friend. Wear that and not one of them will call you an Elf, I guarantee it!”

“But I've nothing to give you!”

“You've given me this, you dolt!” He smiled, patting his pocket. “What more could a Dwarf want! You show any Dwarf that, and tell ‘em Óren gave it to you, and you'll be welcome under any mountain on this Earth, I'll guarantee you that!”

Kri tied it around her neck, aware of Mithrandir grinning at her from across the table. “So… you don't want me to buy you a keg when we stop at Frogmorton?”

“Oi! Oi! I didn't say that!”

 

They arrived in the Shire three days after their evening with the Dwarves, soiled, sore and travel-weary. On his white steed Mithrandir sat hunched, his grey hat pulled down over his eyes, and he appeared to be dozing. Kri could see that a good few folk recognised him, though they kept their distance. They were less keen than the Hobbits they had met on the road, yet bolder than the ones of Breehill. Why, they came all the way out to the roadside to scowl up at them.

She nudged Mithrandir, who jolted upright and nearly sent his horse galloping.

“Foes!” He cried, checking the stallion and glancing about. “Oh, not foes. Good morning my dear Hobbits! Hello! Hello! Yes, good morning!”

And so he continued all down the road, unperturbed by the lack of enthusiasm in their responses. Eventually the land opened up into fields, and he huffed.

“As I said before, people are more careful nowadays. They don't even want to say hello to old Gandalf!”

“Why do they call you that?”

“What? ‘Gandalf’?” He adjusted his hat. “Why do the Elves call me Mithrandir? And your friend Óren called me ‘Tharkûn’. It's just a name.”

“What does it mean?”

For a moment he peered at her. “You know, I haven't the slightest idea.”

Kri shook her head, laughing.

“But look! Here's Frogmorton now! Didn't you say something about the Goggins? And we could both do with a day or two’s respite. You can get that keg for the Dwarves, too.”

 

After asking one or two bewildered townspeople, someone finally point Kri in the direction of the Goggins’ shop which was, in fact several shops all clustered together. At six feet tall, she had to bend in half to shuffle through the Hobbit -sized door. Even when she was inside, she dared not stand, but simply knelt by the entrance looking about. Curiously enough, this had a positive impact on the other customers, who took to smiling up at her now that she seemed more or less normal in height.

“I guess we  _ do  _ come off as rather intimidating, towering over them like that.” She mused.

“Ho there!” The shopkeep had finally extracted himself from an old lady's grasp and ambled over to her. “I've never seen an Elf kneel for no-one! Haha!”

Kri only smiled, attempting to edge further into the wall as a gaggle of old dears inspected the baskets of sundries at her elbow. “Yes, we'll, I'm looking to buy some gifts for the people back home, and your cousin Olly told me this was the place to get them.”

“ _ Olly!”  _ The man clapped his hands, the sound coming out overly large in such a cramped space. “How is the young fool? Still hanging about near all those Menfolk, is he?”

“Yessir, I met him as I was passing through.”

“‘Sir'?” The Hobbit repeated, then guffawed. “Y’hear that, Mrs. Wolfut? The Elf-lass called me ‘sir'!”

“Anything for a discount.” Mrs. Wolfut mumbled, walking away. 

“Anyways, what can I do you for, milady?”

“Um...well… a few barrels of wine wouldn't go amiss. And a keg of something for the Dwarves…” She glanced about. “Perhaps a few cakes and biscuits, too.”

“Buying for Dwarves as well! Well I'll be!”

“Oh, and I suppose I should get something for Olly as well…but I don't want to carry too much. And I shouldn't buy things that will spoil -”

“Nah, nah! Don't you fret about that, Dearie!” He replied, eyes shining at the prospect of a big sale. “I've six sons, me, each strong as a boar! We'll get the goods to your friends, no problem, and you needn't burden yourself with a thing.”

“Oh. But the Dwarves live in the Iron Mountains, and the rest will be going to Imladris - to Rivendell! “

“Not a problem, they've been looking for something to do all Autumn!” He insisted. “Now tell me, how many barrels of wine are we talking about?”

 

In the end Kri sent three barrels Buckleberry’s finest red to Imladris, a keg of Tookborough Ale to Óren and some Frogmorton brandy to Olly along with a suitable selection of cakes, cheeses, sundries and cured meats for everyone. The entire transaction took upwards of three hours, during which time Roddy (Olly’s second cousin) shooed all other patrons out of his shop and locked the door. Kri even bought a bottle of sherry and some treats for Mithrandir. In fact, she spent so much that Roddy and his wife, who had supervised the entire negotiation, invited her to dinner.

“You can bring the wizard along too, if you like.” 

Mithrandir was more than happy to attend, and looked rather comical hunched over the Goggins’ tiny dining table, with all their sons and seven grandchildren shoved up next to him. Kri supposed she looked funny, too, and was reminded of this when she tried to stand, only to have one of the babies look up at her and burst into tears. 

The family had all been roped into Roddy’s business one way or another: Gemma (his wife) kept the books. Their pack of stout boys did the heavy lifting while their wives stocked the shelves and generally maintained the shops. Even the little ones helped out. As a result they all favoured Kri in their conversation, probably hoping she would drop another sack of money.

“So Roddy says you've come from Rivendell, dear.” Gemma remarked over their second course.

“Well, yes, that's where we started off, Mith- er - Gandalf and I.” Kri responded.

“So you're a kinswoman of old Elrond, then?”

“Well no, I'm not actually  _ from  _ Rivendell, you see.”

“Oh pardon me. Whereabouts are you from?” 

“Away north.”

“North?” Gemma frowned as she dished more carrots onto the young ones plates. “I don't know of any Fair Folk away north.”

“Well, I'm not really an Elf, you see. I'm an Olari.”

The adult Hobbits paused.

“What's that then?” Roddy queried.

“Well… I'm not quite sure. But we live on the Northern Continent. I suppose we  _ do  _ look rather similar to your Elves, so maybe there's a little bit of that in us. But we're a people apart.”

“Hmmm.” 

One of the sons eyed her curiously. “You live under the ice. Is that to hide from the bigger things?”

“Well yes. And the cold.”

“Do you have gardens?”

“Oh yes, huge ones full of food.They're mostly underground, in places where the ice is clear and the sun can shine through. We grow everything we can and store most of it away for the worst months.”

“It sounds harsh. Why would anyone want to live up there.”

“Well we were mostly fleeing from -” She stopped short as Mithrandir jogged her elbow. One glance at him and Kri understood.  _ Do not say such names in this place. _ “...from bad folk.”

“Not much different from Hobbits, then. Are they, Da?” 

“No I suppose not.” Roddy responded, still watching Kri. There was no hostility in it, but she could tell they were no longer as comfortable with her presence as before. Still, they set three more courses before them, followed by pudding, and finally tea and biscuits. In fact it was drawing dangerously near supper time when they finally excused themselves. And it was not until then that Kri put the question to Mithrandir: “Do they not know of the Dark Lord here?”

He glanced about, checking for eavesdroppers. “They do, in a way. They've heard stories from others about what went on in the First Age. But that's all they are to them - stories to tell around the fire.”

“Weren't they around then?”

“I don't know. And they don't know. In fact nobody seems to know. If they were, they were probably in the furthest East, away from all the darkness.”

“So why not explain it to them, explain about those times?”

“Well, it seems a shame to scare them, doesn't it? What a shame to ruin this happy innocence.”

“But his General is still about. If he should rise again-”

“If he should rise again not even they will be safe. The world as we know it will be changed and marred.”

“Wouldn't they be better prepared to defend themselves, if they understood properly?”

Mithrandir chuckled. “You look at them only as they seem, Kri; soft and good and gay. You do not see how tough these little Hobbits really are. Believe me, when the darkness comes they will stand against it. Perhaps they will be the only ones that can.”

“You are really quite fond of them, aren’t you?”

He sighed. “Yes. I really am.”


	20. Interlude: Celebrian

She folded the letter and looked at Elrond as he leaned against the bedpost. They had received the wine, and the food. And two letters: one for Glorfindel, no doubt simply recounting Kri’s journey, and another for the lady of the house, which told of the aforementioned’s desire to roam all of the deep dark corners of this world. Her last lines lingered in the air:

“I shall not return till this call has left my heart, this deep-set urge to see all that might be seen.” 

Elrond fingered the fine grooves in the varnished wood. “What of Glorfindel?”

“I do not know. She writes nothing of him lately.”

“He would go with her, if he knew.”

“Into the very pits of Angband, yes. Perhaps that is why he does not know.”

“How can we keep this from him?” 

“For her sake we must, at least a while. I have urged her to be more open with him. But it is difficult.”

“Hmmm. Well I won't say anything unless I must.”

She placed the letter on her nightstand, stretching like a cat. Elrond’s gaze drifted to her bare legs as they peeked out from under her gown. Celebrian smiled. 

“Husband?”

“Hm?”

“Come here.”

His expression changed as he pushed all of his worries for Glorfindel to the back of his mind. Celebrian caught the front of his robes as he edged onto the bed, pulling him down on top of her so suddenly that he yelped, and she giggled in his ear as he nuzzled her neck.

“Now whatever could  _ you  _ have in mind?” 

She reached up and plucked the circlet from his head, placing it by Kri’s letter. She did not say a word as she undid the clasps of his coat, tugging at the lapels until he obeyed and discarded it.

When Elrond finally kissed her, Celebrian responded in kind, cupping his face with soft hands, purring as his hands moved to touch every inch of her, baring her breasts with a swift yank to tease and pinch her pert nipples, deftly ducking between to stroke her. She giggled and moaned into his mouth.

“ _ Husband _ .”

It was a demand as her fingers found the hem of his white tunic. It fell to the floor in an instant, and he savoured the heat of her against his bare chest, the brush of her hands along his back.

Elrond slipped a finger into her wetness grunting as she nipped his lower lip, grinning broadly at the way she wriggled into his touch. Celebrian palmed him through his breeches and he whispered a prayer to Varda. 

“ _ Wife.”  _ He mocked. “Why such haste?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

He chuckled as she rid herself of the gown, lying back bare with his fingers inside of her, smirking up at him even as he crooked them just right, groaning scandalously in a way that had an unquestionable effect on him.

She unlaced him as he watched, taking him boldly in hand and stroking him in time with his own fingers. With an impatient noise, she pulled his hand away, holding it firmly above her head as she guided him to her, whimpering into his kiss as he filled her.

Elrond moved with merciless precision, cupping her buttocks firmly as he pinned her to the bed, going deeply but slowly in a way that made her toes curl even as she wrapped her legs around his hips. It was so easy for him to reduce Celebrian to a panting shuddering mess. And as he stroked her silver hair, growling in a way so very unsuited to his otherwise calm demeanour, his fingers grasping her arse hard enough to bruise, it became increasingly evident to her that she was his undoing, too.

It was over almost as soon as it begun, with both of them crashing together over violent waves of pleasure, and Celebrian uttered his name thrice. 

Utterly done, he stayed there, indeed she would not let him go. Arwen was old enough now, and their love was great, so each of them embraced the other, willing his seed to find its way. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while!   
> Sorry this chapter isn't much to come back to, but I had a bunch of IRL stuff to sort out.

It had rained for two days straight, and even an Elf-cloak of Imladris could not keep the water off Kri for long. She sat, shivering in the saddle, half-glad sickness could not take her and half-hoping it would, just to release her from this misery. Mithrandir looked no better, with rain splashing off the rim of his huge hat. His horse even snorted indignantly as it slogged through the muddy puddles. For the first time since they'd set off, she rode ahead, as Duvah did not mind the weather, and Kri’s sense of direction had previously proved better than the wizard’s. In this downfall, it was hard for him to see the way, but they were going west, and that was easy enough. On that day, they caught sight of the White Towers of Gil-galad in the distance, standing out starkly against the dull grey sky. “Shall we go up, Mithrandir?” Kri suggested. “There's a palanír up there, is there not?” “There is, but no.” Answered he. “You will gaze into it one day, but not today. And I have no desire to look upon Valinor when I cannot yet return.” She twisted in the saddle to look at him. “When will that be?” “When the Shadow is banished from these lands.” Kri frowned. “And when is that?” “I do not know.” “Do not know, or will not tell?” He did not respond. So she turned southward, hugging the lower slopes of the Emyn Beraid until after another few days the came to the pass they sought, and still the rain fell. It had dispersed into a cold, misty sort that barred their view of the Havens below, and Kri cursed it. The road widened here, and they went on abreast. It was so hard to see that they did not catch sight of their destination until it was upon them, and Kri reined in her horse abruptly, gaping up at the white buildings that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They were taller and far grander than Elrond’s house, and seemed to glow faintly through the dim. Beyond these, the docks stretched out into the mouth of the river, and squinting she could make out the shapes of smaller boats moored there. The large ships, if there were any at present, would be anchored out in the Gulf. “Ah! There he is!” Mithrandir exclaimed, hopping down from his horse with surprising vigour. ‘He’ was, of course, Lord Círdan, the master of the Grey Havens. He and a number of his house approached, bearing silver lanterns whose beams cut through the obtrusive mirk. Kri dismounted also, examining him curiously as he approached. Unless she was mistaken, here was quite possibly the oldest Elf West of the Sea, and to her surprise the centuries showed on him. He seemed tired and bent, his long silver hair hanging limp on either side of his face, and he walked with a shuffling step. What shocked her most was the beard, almost as long as Mithrandir’s, which fell down his chest in grey strands. She had not even known that Elves could grow beards, and it made him look as a mortal man. Indeed, but for the light which shone in his eyes, she might have mistaken him for one. “Mithrandir. It has been too long!” The Elf declared, embracing the wizard. “Likewise, old friend. Likewise.” Mithrandir agreed, patting his back fondly. “But alas! My business seldom calls me westward.” “Then may I presume you have no business at present? Can you stay awhile?” “There is nothing pressing at the moment, and yes, I would stay if you'll have me, and if my companion wills it.” Círdan looked at Kri, and smiled. “Well here is the one you wrote me about.” She flushed. “...Mithrandir wrote about me?” “I had wondered if Círdan had ever heard of your kind, being the intrepid explorer he is.” Mithrandir explained. “Unfortunately nothing ever drew me so far north.” The shipwright went on. “I rather thought there was nothing there but snow.” “There really isn't.” She replied. At that he laughed, and the years seemed to fall from his face. “I'll take your word for it, but really, both of you, let's hurry on inside. You're soaked!” He led them into his hall - a place far loftier than anywhere in Imladris. Yet it was comparatively empty. They passed through it into what appeared to be Círdan’s private sitting room. He invited them to sit by the glowing fire, where food and drink had already been set out. Mithrandir and Kri, both famished, gladly helped themselves as Círdan asked them about their journey. He was more interested in Kri and her people, however, so conversation soon turned to that. “What brings you so far from home, My Lady?” “I was really just curious about this place.” She responded. “I had read about it so much, I wanted to see everything for myself. But of course things are quite different now from the stories.” “How so?” “Well, we really have nothing from after the fall of Morgoth. And it appears a lot has happened since then.” “Quite a lot is right!” He concurred. “But tell me, does this place live up to your imagination?” She mulled this over. “Yes and no.” “Go on.” “Well, I imagined things would be better since the Dark Lord is no longer about…” “Believe me, they are.” “Perhaps, but his influence is still obvious.” “Yes.” Círdan agreed. “You're right. In fact I don't believe this world will ever recover from what he did. And of course his servants are still abroad.” “Yet I would still stay here awhile.” She continued. “The people here, in face of such darkness, strive to be sources of light, or so I've observed. Where I come from the evil ones are not so evil; meaning that the good are not so good.” Círdan studied her face awhile, and then laughed to himself. “Oh but if your people are half as pure as you, it must be a wonderful place.” Kri blushed. “I don't know about that…” He grinned. “I'd love to see it, some day.” The shipwright went over to his writing desk, and from one of the drawers produced two envelopes. One was considerably thicker than the other, and both of them were closed with familiar wax seals. “In the meantime, these both arrived for you some days past. One from the Lady Celebrían, the other - if I'm not mistaken - is from Lord Glorfindel.” She took them, the vellum making a rough sound as she stroked them anxiously. What had Glorfindel sent her? The package was heavy and something moved about within. “Thank you, My Lord.” Cirdan smiled. It seemed to be his default expression, as a matter of fact. “Well, I have some matters to discuss with Mithrandir, and I'm certain you're eager to read your letters. There is a servant outside who will lead you to your chambers, or anywhere that you might wish to go.” “I see, thank you.” “But do be sure to join us for dinner.” “Yes, yes of course.” The servant took her to her room upon request, a spacious suite overlooking the river, with a wide balcony and immense bath with running water. He showed her how to fill this, and she wondered at how the water came out steaming hot. As soon as he was gone Kri peeled off her muddy clothes and settled down in the tub. There was a plethora of bottles along its side, which she opened and sniffed one by one, sometimes applying their contents to her skin, other times to her hair, other times dumping generous amounts into the water. She scrubbed and soaked herself from head to toe, not satisfied until her skin tingled from the scraping of bristles. Then she soaked herself once more, closing her eyes for a moment and near falling asleep right there. The towels were soft and fluffy, so she wrapped herself in two, not bothering to find dress just yet. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she worked a comb through her wet hair, gently coaxing out each knot individually, brushing it a thousand times until it hung smooth down her back. She set the comb back down on the nightstand. Next to the letters. “They'll never get read if you don't do it now.” She said to herself. Celebrían’s was the lightest by all accounts, so she picked it up first. Autumn in Imladris. The pumpkin harvest has been good this year, and the apples are sweet as ever. Arwen cut her chin chasing one of the stable cats and was in a monstrous mood for days. Not even Atar dearest could cheer her up. Only the return of the twins put a smile back on her face. How are you, Kri? How is Mithrandir? Another baby… Kri stopped, smiled, and pressed the letter to her lips. Celebrían and Elrond were hoping for a fourth child. Another girl, if the Valar were good. Kri closed her eyes and said a prayer for them. And that was it. Nothing more from her dear friend, yet Kri was penning a response on her head already. The other remained, bulky and misshapen in its brown envelope. It dwarfed Celebrían’s message. Kri took a deep breath and broke the gold seal. A glint of silver, and something landed on the quilt. Her heart stopped. A slender chain and a petite pendant set with a small white opal. She reaches out and touched it tentatively. Was this for her? She set it on her lap and unfolded the letter. My Dearest Kri, It has been some time since you departed; nigh on two moons now, and I feel the wholeness of your absence as a weight upon my heart. I often sit in the gardens as we once did, remembering your fascination with Lady Celerían’s murals, and the old days which they depicted. I regret that I only told you a handful of tales from my youth, and impatiently await the opportunity to tell you more. And of course, I am still full of questions about your land, your people, and you. But at present I am primarily concerned with your ongoing adventure. How goes it? Has there been any trouble? Is Mithrandir behaving himself? In truth I cannot bear sitting about waiting for you to return. Of course I am certain you can imagine some of my reasons for this, but the thought most chiefly concerning me is that, after all this time apart, I finally understand why you left, why you need to be out in the world now, and why I should not urge you to come back. Rather, I say now what I should have said at our parting: Go. Seek healing in the fields and forests and open skies. Find it in the faces of new friends and in the places you visit. And whenever you return, I will be here for you. This pendant is a symbol of that, so I ask you to wear it please, and remember these words. Yet for now I cannot stay in Imladris. Word has reached me here that my sister's son has welcomed his first child - a son of his own, and I must go to give the babe my blessing. Write me there, if you will. Yours Always, Laurefindil He had written his Mother-name in Quenya, and she touched her fingers to it , tracing the lines over and over. But in truth his letter was not finished, and there followed after an account of his younger years, first in Aman, and then in Gondolin, recounting its history in great detail right up to his fall at the hands of a Balrog. Kri flipped through the packed pages, wondering what had possessed him to write the tale of his life. Did he think she would not return? Or was it something to do with his own situation. Whatever the case, it sent a message: I place my life in your hands.


	22. Chapter 22

On the fourth day, Mithrandir summoned her. He and Cirdan stood watching the wind sweep over the grey waters, carrying dead leaves out to sea. They seemed to be sharing a familiar silence, though perhaps they were speaking without words. Kri knew the elders and the mages of her lands could communicate so; perhaps the southern folk were not so different.

She coughed upon approach, and the wizard started as though roused from a dream, looking about til he found her. The shipwright turned more slowly, nodding at her.

“There you are, there you are!” Mithrandir said merrily. “I hope we did not disturb you. Alurin said you were in the library.”

“Not at all. I was just doing some light reading.” she replied. “Nothing important.”

“Good, good.” He hesitated, looking to Cirdan. Again, something unspoken passed between them. Kri waited. “My dear, I know I told you that I would show you this land…”

Kri’s heart sank.

“... And I truly would love to do so…”

A little further.

“...Perhaps at another time…

At each word.

“...we could continue our travels together. Unfortunately, there have been some disturbing rumours circulating lately. Rumours that cannot be ignored any longer.” A heavy sigh. “And it is our duty to find the truth of them.”

“What kind of rumours?”

“That is… Not to be discussed right now.” Cirdan interjected. “Only know that they concern individuals long thought defeated.”

Kri understood this well enough. “Can I help?”

“ _ No! _ ” Mithrandir exclaimed. Then more calmly: “No, child. I could not live with myself if I put you in such danger.”

“But-”

“Kri, do not. I beg you. I cannot allow you near such darkness.”

She stopped. “So I'm to be sent back?”

He shook his head. “Graciously, Lord Círdan has arranges an escort for you. They shall take you wherever you wish to go.”

She pondered this a moment, but without Mithrandir to guide her, there was really only one place she wished to go.

“I said to Óren I would visit him when I had the chance, and now seems as good a time as any.” She looked to Círdan. “Would your people protest to venturing as far as the Greg Mountains? I know it is very far, and if it's too much to ask I -”

The shipwright silenced her with a wave of his hand. “Not at all. We trade with the Naugrim of that region on a regular basis. It should be no trouble to find someone to bring you there.”

“Then I shall visit with the Dwarves awhile.” She decided, turning to Mithrandir, who she found had been frowning at her back. “That is, unless there is some reason why I shouldn't?”

He looked at her, and his expression softened, but the worry in his eyes did not ease. “Of course you should, My Dear. Just...keep Glorfindel in your thoughts, if I might ask as much.”

It was her turn to frown. “Of course I will.”

He gave her a thin smile, and said no more.


	23. Interlude: Glorfindel Alone

Asfaloth stopped and shook himself, rainwater forming a light mist as it evaporated from his warm flanks. On his back, the Lord of the Golden Flower wished he could do the same, as droplets ran down his fair face, dripping off his nose in a way fit to drive him mad, seeping down his neck to soak the collar of his tunic.

Curse the rain. Curse these meandering roads. Curse himself for pressing on through this deluge. 

But the river was below, he could see it there; a sliver of silver in the vast green of the darkening land. His Elf ears could even hear its distant roar.

Anduin the Great, engorged with rain, charged on toward the sea. And so he rode on as well, in spite of his steeds grunting and complaining, in spite of the grumbling of his own stomach. There would be Men near the water, perhaps a village with an in. Any sort of shelter would do him right now. And oats for Asfaloth.

Who neighed his agreement.

 

They did not know what to make of him, that much was plain. In large cities the Eldar barely spared a glance, but here in the northern lowlands they were few and far between. So they came out to see him. Some even lifted their little ones from their beds and held them in doorways as they whispered. “Look, Sweetheart! An Elf lord! Do you see? There, on the big white horse. One of the Fair Folk is come!”

And the children did look, wide-eyed, little faces frozen in a combination of awe and fear, hands clutching at their mothers and fathers as he rode past to the tavern. They seemed to close in as he dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy who bowed and scraped and stammered at the sight of such a person, such a beast, and the gold coin which was pressed into his hand. Glorfindel spared the crowd a slight bow before ducking inside.

Of course here it was no better. As soon as he removed his hood the people stopped and stared. He tried to smile, but it was a most uncomfortable feeling. A handful even leered, and the desires that passed through their minds were enough for him to ask for a private room at once.

Away from everyone, he breathed a sigh of relief, and peeled his soaked cloak and tunic off. He was unlacing his boots when a maid knocked on the door with hot water and soap. Oh, how she stared at him, bare chested before her. He turned his back to her and yanked his boots off with undue force as she filled his wash basin. She left, only to return again a minute later with his food and some wine, grinning all the while. He avoided eye contact when he thanked her.

As soon as she was gone, and he was certain she had gone downstairs, did he proceed to strip and wash, grumbling at the state of himself. Elves do not soil easily, but he had been on the road alone for weeks, and had allowed his personal hygiene to slip. There was dirt under his nails, on his face, even - and he had to laugh at it - stuck in the contours of his pointed ears. It took well over an hour to scrub himself to his satisfaction, by which time both the water and his food were unpleasantly cold.

Still, he dried himself off and dressed himself in the rough spun nightgown provided for him - which was much too short and only added to his mood. The food was good enough, for human fare; dry and bland but tolerable, and of course the wine tasted like piss, but he drank it all anyway and let it warm him.

Finally, full but not satisfied, he laid down on the hard bed and willed himself to dream of more pleasant things.

 

The fire had burnt out, and the town all gone to sleep, when the sound of a closing door made him start. He turned his head, sharp eyes taking in the figure now standing in the room with him. The light from the window shone on them, so that he could make out the shape of ample breasts and long legs hardly covered by a thin shift. The face, however, was in shadow.

“Who…?”

Suddenly, she was on top of him. Had she moved at all? All he knew was the feeling of her warm hands on his chest (where was his nightgown?), stroking him, pinching him. She raked her nails down his front and he fought for breath. 

_ Oh, but this is wrong _ . He thought, all to briefly, as she ground her hips against him, moaning scandalously. She wanted him, and his own want rose to meet her.

_ No! This is - _ He seemed to finally regain control of his hands, grasping her hips to still her.  _ Kri! _

She leaned over, and he knew she meant to kiss him. Glorfindel turned his head aside. No, he did not want this. Not this woman. He wanted…

White hair fell across his face. Soft fingers turned his chin. Green eyes shone in the night. 

 

“Kri!” He said aloud, waking himself. He rose up on his elbows, scanning the room in confusion. Cursing, he fell back against the pillow, remembering where he was.

_ But what a magnificent dream _ . 

He was still electrified from it. Indeed, every inch of his skin seemed to remember the ghost of her touch. Kicking the blanket away, Glorfindel rid himself of his gown, exposing his hardened member to the cool night air, he took himself in hand, brushing it firmly to mimic the way she had teased him, pinching his own nipples as she had done. He played with them, licking his fingers and closing his eyes, imagining her sucking and licking at his chest as she rubbed her clit against him.

But this was not enough, not nearly. She sat up, pulling off her flimsy garment, which dissolved into thin air, and he said a prayer at the sight of her poised above him, cupping her own breasts and smiling as he poised himself at her entrance.

By the Valar, she was glorious, and he felt the strength gone from his limbs as she engulfed him, hot and tight. He watched helplessly as she rode him, lips parted, panting, eyes on him. Always on him. Gasping his name as she pressed his palms to her tits. It seemed to last only a moment, for she arched suddenly, clasping his cock tightly, and he called her name as his spilled forth into his own hands.

  
Alone once again, he stroked out the last few beats of his orgasm as the vision faded. He vaguely wondered if the humans had heard him, then quickly decided he did not care and proceed to wipe his seed away with one of the towels. Perhaps he had even given them something pleasurable to dream about.


	24. Chapter 24

The weather had eased, at least. It had stopped raining, and the wind had died down. All that remained was the biting cold. They had left the day after the autumnal equinox - one last feast before the road. But now the season was fast descending into one of the coldest in centuries, and they dreaded the thought of winter. 

Kri, used to harsh northern climes, paid all of this little heed. In fact she relished the chill after the heat of summer. But her companions shivered in their cloaks, and huddled around the fire at night, and she could not help feeling a tinge of guilt for taking them from their homes. 

It did not help that they were slowly edging further north, toward the looming grey faces of the mountains. At times when the wind picked up, it flew at them like knives, and even she hunched over the neck of her horse, eyes near closed. Thank the Valar today had been a good day, and they had ridden far. 

They made camp in the shadow of a jagged hill, and the men set about preparing the evening meal. Kri went down to a narrow stream to wash and fill her waterskin, allowing her mind to wander as she wiped the sweat and grime from her skin. 

Across from her, a long line of trees followed a dirt track, barely wide enough for one rider to pass, yet as she allowed her eye to travel southward, there she saw a rider upon a fine horse coming her way. He had not noticed her, and as he neared his eyes remained head, slightly hooded, as one fighting off sleep. 

He had a fair face, and long golden hair. Kri fancied she knew him, perhaps they had crossed paths before? She thought to call out to him, but no, that would not be wise.

Of a sudden, however. he started and glanced about, and finding her on the bank looked straight into her eyes. And she knew him.

She blinked and he was gone, jumping out of her trance and standing up. He had been here, she had seen him! And yet…

There was no one about. She crouched down and splashed cold water onto her face. Her hands shook. The dreams had been one thing, but this… She had seen him in the waking world and he… Had he seen her too? Is that what this was? 

No, impossible. Just a dream.

 

He came to her again that night, clad only in a white tunic and travel stained breeches. Kri quickly closed her mind off to her companions. None of them needed to know what she saw at night.

Again, no words passed between them. He was standing there one minute, and stretched out on top of her the next, hands boldly tracing the contours of her body, his soft, warm lips at her neck. Kri’s garments seemed to melt away at his caress, and she sighed, embracing him, stroking his beautiful hair, imagining the scent of him as he sent shivers up her spine.

When his head dipped between her legs, the heat of his tongue seemed to travel from her core and up though her body. She lay there, barely breathing, wanton at his barest touch. But oh, this was too good to be real, she reminded herself, even as she rolled her hips against every pass of his tongue and fingers. All too perfect **,** the way he pushed two digits into her, eliciting a throaty moan. She seemed to hover over the edge of her release for an eternity, pleasure emanating through her very being. Then, at last, the final flick, and she bucked up into his palm.

He was not done yet, of course. That would not be enough for her. She wanted him. All of him. As he bent to kiss her, she pulled him closer, allowing her tongue to slide into his receptive mouth, dreaming of the taste of him as her fingers dug into the bare flesh of his back.

More more more. She ran her fingers along taut muscle, loving the way he gasped and twitched. When she gripped his hips with her thighs he even growled, his hands indulging in the soft skin of her long legs. Not enough. He knew what she wanted. He was teasing her. 

So when she moved her hand to grip him, she was not surprised that he smiled. That grin only widened as she guided him to her, demanding his full attention. It was aggravating, that grin, so she erased it with her lips, making hungry noises as she pulled at his hips.

Come here.

And what could he do but obey? She gave a satisfied sigh at his intrusion, and they both laughed a little between locked lips. If only the others knew what she was dreaming. It was scandalous doing this, within a few inches of her companions, but, well, she wasn't really  _ doing _ anything was she?

All thought of them left her as he hitched her legs up over his shoulders.  _ Oh _ . So that's how he wanted it. And he had been so gentle before. She gripped his thighs, more than welcoming this new position.

He drove into her with desperate force, moaning most deliciously, and Kri understood that he did not mean to last this time. Indeed, neither did she, for she found herself whimpering noisily, her sex pulsing with every crash of his needy hips. They spoke then, but it was nothing substantial, just prayers and affirmations and words of praise, becoming more and more frenzied as the reached a crescendo and then came crashing down.

And as Kri gazed up at the night stars, trying to catch her breath, she wondered that a dream might feel so real. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so.... Sorry this took so long. I got caught up in another fic but now I'm back!

Óren and four companions met them halfway up the road to their mountain abode. Kri, though happy to see him, wondered that he had rushed out so quickly to greet his guests, and also wondered if he had not been watching the road since she wrote him.

The Dwarf was jovial enough, trotting alongside her horse and nattering away as they made their way through the sloping pass. Duvah sniffed curiously at him, and he even spared her a hesitant pat on the nose. 

Kri giggled: “Have you ever ridden a horse before, Master Dwarf?”

“Oh no, Milady. Tis not the way of Dwarves to be riding such beasts-”

Duvah snorted.

“Begging your pardon.” He offered. “But we're only ever happy with both feet planted firmly on the ground.”

“I see.” She responded, eyeing him.

He turned red. “And you'll not be getting me up there, so you can stop looking at me like that!”

She  _ tutted _ . “Fine.”

On either side, the rocky walls of the mountains closed in tighter, sheer and sharp. They bent in wards until one overlapped the other, wrapping them in semi-darkness which only turned blacker as they pressed on.

Then a creaking sound echoed against the stone, and up ahead the rock face split, spilling amber light over them. It was wide enough for two horses to pass abreast, and high enough for an Ent. Beyond the door, hundreds of Dwarves milled about in a great cavern, buying and selling wares, singing, dancing, talking and laughing. To Kri’s utter shock, two Dwarflings darted under Duvah’s legs, causing her mount to start and prance nervously. Across the vast hall, a woman let roar and the children sprinted away, cackling loud enough for the whole mountain to hear.

She dismounted, bowing and wishing her Elven escorts farewell, as they had business of their own to attend to. Óren whistled, and a young, perhaps adolescent, man jogged over.

“Brum, take the lady's horse and see about taking care of it.” He ordered brusquely. “And if you don't I'll box your ears til they're blue.”

Bowing hastily, the lad reached his hand out for Duvah’s reins. The made gazed at Kri questioningly when she handed them over.

“It's alright, Darling.” She urged. “I'll be along to check on you as soon as I can.”

Duvah snorted, which made Brum jump, but she allowed him to lead her away, only looking back once.

 

Óren saw her to a squat, broad chamber fitted with a low bed, dresser, and round table built for a Dwarf. It was sparsely decorated here and there with stone sculptures and rough-cut crystals, lit by small stones which glowed a light yellow. Kri deposited her packs on the bed and poked around a bit while he bounced on his toes.

“It, ah…” He stammered. “I know it probably isn't as extravagant as what you're used to -”

Kri scoffed. “What makes you think I'm used to extravagance?”

“Well...living with the Elves…”

“I only lived with them a short while.” She replied. “Before that I slept anywhere and everywhere. I assure you, my friend, this room is more than enough. Thank you.”

Óren fidgeted with his beard, grinning.

“Where might I bathe?”

He reddened once more at that. “Well, about that...Dwarves usually bathe together…” 

Kri's face was response enough to that.

“...but of course none of us expect that of you.” He went on. “I can have some of the women set up something for you. Do you require fresh clothing?”

She looked down at herself and sniffed. “I should think so, yes.”

“I'll see about that as well.”

 

Kri was dozing on the bed when a knock came at the door. Before she could say or do anything, three Dwarf women came bursting into her room. They were not much more than girls, really, and gawked up at her when she stood. She wondered if they had ever come face to face with an outsider before.

“Evening, Lady.” Said one, bowing stiffly. “We are sisters of Óren. My name is Dara, and these are my sisters, Mara and Kara.”

“A pleasure.” Kri bowed back. “I am Kri of the Olari.”

The two younger ones let out soft  _ Oohs. _ Kri smiled. 

“Our brothers has asked us to arrange for you a bath.” Dara went on. “We have no tubs nor can we be bothered to fashion one. Thus you will bathe with us, and we will see to your privacy.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that Kri could only nod, in spite of the misgivings. In truth, she was no stranger to public baths, but in this strange place was becoming ever more conscious of her stature. Still, if Dara promised her privacy, then she would trust her.

How wrong she was. Though the three sisters chose a bathing spot among the mothers and girls, out of the way of most of the men, the only form of ‘privacy’ the received was a folding screen placed before the tiny pool they had vacated for her. Being open at either end, it did not give much cover, and the children and old ladies were very curious. The latter in particular would walk straight up to her, ask her to stand up, and then take a good look, followed by a noncommittal  _ hmm. _

After the fourth such intrusion, Kri abandoned her little corner and joined the other women in the common bath. People still stared, but she felt somewhat more in control of the situation, and the women let roar at any man who dared peek round the corner. 

 

The sisters provided Kri with a Elf-made shirt and a Dwarf-made skirt. She was sure on any of them the skirt would have swept the ground, but it hardly went past her knees. They also provided soft brown moccasins.

At Óren’s invitation, she joined his family's table for dinner in one of the great halls, where hundreds of Dwarves had gathered to feast. Here, more than anywhere, she was aware of the stares, as heads turned to get a good look at her. Oren seemed to think nothing of it, and nodded to each individual in turn, telling Kri their names and occupations. To his credit, it made her feel a lot easier, and soon enough she learned to ignore all of the curious glances. 

“I'll have to show you about proper.” He remarked. “But we'll do that on the morrow. I can see you wish to sleep.”

He was right. Kri could hardly keep her eyes open. It was as though the entire journey had finally caught up to her, and now every single joint in her body ached. She allowed him to escort her back to her chambers, and thanked him for his hospitality for the thousandth time.

The next day, and the entire two days after, Óren made good on his promise, showing her every corner of his mountain abode. He took her outside as well, showing her along the passes and slopes of the mountains. On the third day he took her hunting, and was thrilled to see how efficient she was at shooting down game. When he tried, with her full-sized bow, he missed by several feet, swearing until he caught her eye.

“I do beg pardon, Lady.” He stammered, bowing. “I rather lost the run of myself.”

Kri, still giggling, responded: “To be perfectly honest I didn't understand half of it.”

He turned a deeper shade of crimson and waved off her requests for a translation.

 

Over a fortnight passed. As Mithrandir had said, the Dwarves were at times difficult to warm, but proved firm friends once won over. Kri proved a hit among most of Óren’s kin, mostly thanks to her ambassador, who had prepared them for her coming. Rather rapidly they were speaking openly with her, even those with little knowledge of the common tongue made an effort, and she managed to pick up a handful of words in their language, though her pronunciation was atrocious.

One evening, Óren took her aside, and gesturing silently led her out of the hall. Kri followed him through several narrow corridors and a darkened stair, following the light of his round lamp. They came out into a vast open space, lined all around with narrow columns and lit with scattered braziers. Opposite them sat a colossal figure, carved out of the living rock by deft hands. His massive hands were laid over the arms of his throne, his chest and feet were bare, with a long beard falling down to his pleated skirts. Above his seat hung a sigil bearing a hammer and anvil.

“Mahal.” Óren announced, indicating the figure with a bow. 

Kri stepped into the firelight. Gazing down from his throne, the figure of Aulë seemed to judge her, brow furrowed in concentration. She knelt before him, as seemed appropriate.

Óren nudged her. “No need for that, Lady! I did not bring you to worship, only to show you.”

“Oh, but he is too splendid!” Kri breathed, staring up into the eyes of the Vala. Still, they bored into her, and she shivered.

“We can leave, if you a”

“No!” She interjected. “No, I wish to stay while with him. Tell me, who made him?”

“They say it was Dúrin himself, though I do not believe it.”

“You don't know?”

“He has been here longer than any can remember.”

“Óren?”

“Yes?”

“Should I be here?”

He shifted nervously. “...no?”

“Then why…?”

“I, ah...wished to speak with you.”

“We could speak anywhere.”

“I wanted to speak with you out of earshot.”

“Oh.” She felt herself turning pink. “Well. Here we are.”

“Yes..um…” He looked to Mahal. Kri was unsure as to whether he wished to ask him something, or he simply sought somewhere to avert his gaze. “Well..you see. I know you stayed sometime with the Elves. And I know you mentioned that you wished to return to them…”

“Yes?” She urged, waiting calmly.

“I...ah… Couldn't help wondering why you are so eager to return.” He continued, still looking up at the statue. “I wondered if perhaps there was someone…”

She caught his meaning. “Oh, Óren… I'm so sorry!”

His head whipped around, and he met her gaze. Whatever he saw there was not what he sought, and he sighed heavily. “Ah, that stings.”

“I didn't know-”

“No, no no!” He said holding up his hands. “Don't you go about apologizing any more, Lady!”

“I had no wish to hurt you.”

He smiled. “I don't doubt that. I took the risk, and I knew the odds. Neither of us can help how we feel.”

Kri looked at him for a long time. He was not unattractive, Óren, with his dark hair and warm eyes. He was strong, and tall for his kind. And he had a certain charm… She felt her heart twinge. If things had been different...

_ But they're not _ ,  _ are they _ ?

“I still consider you my friend, Óren.”

A grin this time, a real one. “Aye, that's good enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd date Óren ;)


	26. Glorfindel: Greenwood the Great

The Great Wood was no place to tarry. He remembered it when it was beautiful - a haven for all sorts of birds and beasts, lush and green and sweet-smelling. Once upon a time this grey, dull Earth had borne flowers of every hue, not just the tangled brambles that sought to strangle anything that lived. The trees had been strong and fair, with broad leaves, their boles coated in bright green moss. Now that moss was brown, the leaves stunted and pale, and the trees grew thin as they fought for space.

The air choked, and he loosened his collar. No creature would dwell here, save for those monstrous arachnids. He had seen a few, skittering from shadow to shadow, hoping to catching him unawares. Twice, one had ventured too close. Twice he had hewn one of the spiders in half. Now when he looked to the others in warning, they darted away, fearful. 

His thoughts turned to his sister. His most wonderful sister. Tall and golden-haired as he. Keener with bow and arrow. Oropher's match in shooting. How she had loved this place, and the home they had built here. She had danced through the forest paths, and now her brother imagined her as she had lived, laughing, twirling here and there. 

“Don't dawdle, Filit. Don't dawdle. Hurry!”

And then she was away, darting ahead, out of sight of both him and Oropher. A giggle, and Thranduil leapt from his father's horse and sprinted after her. Oropher laughed aloud and dared his son to catch her, though they all knew he could not. Not unless Laurenis allowed it. 

Smiling to himself, Glorfindel spurred Asfaloth on, chasing the vision of his sister down the path. Oropher galloped beside him. Little Thranduil was ahead, running just within the treeline. They overtook him and he disappeared. Glancing aside, Glorfindel checked that Oropher was still there. In the distance, the voice of Laurenis urged them on.

A fork in the road. Oropher shot off to the right, to where his folk had once dwelt, before the Shadow. He traveled a few feet, and then melted into the gloom, trees closing in around him, swallowing the path.

Glorfindel stood up in his stirrups, peering forward. “Sister! Sister!”

“ _ Hurry up! _ ”

Relieved, he bent over Asfaloth’s neck. “ _ Noro lim!” _

Snorting, the stallion charged onward. He could not hear Laurenis, but he sensed his master's urgency, and ploughed toward the path's end.

The gate was ahead, and the trees began to thin. Glorfindel spied the figure of his dear sister on the narrow bridge, bathed in sunlight. He pulled Asfaloth up, and just like that the light flared, flickered, and was gone, darkness spilling over the empty bridge.

 

He had no time to contemplate his heartache. With a groan, the gate opened, and the Elvenking emerged flanked by four guards. He strode out to meet his uncle. So very like Oropher was he, yet not. For he had his mother's golden hair and blue eyes. Grinning, the two embraced, and Glorfindel kissed him upon the cheek. 

“I had hoped you would come soon, Uncle.” Thranduil said. “There is someone I wish you to meet.”

Curious, Glorfindel followed his nephew inside, at once struck by the lanterns and ribbons hung about the cavern and halls. He turned, taking in the colourful decorations, and the smiles upon every face as they looked up at the king.

“It seems I have disturbed you in preparation for some celebration.”

“Not disturbed, I assure you.” Thranduil replied, smiling back at him. “You are our most honoured guest.”

Away from the public halls, the passages narrowed, winding through the earth until they came to a pair of tall doors. The guards pushed these aside, closing them as Thranduil led Glorfindel into his chambers.

“Thranduil, what-”

The kind pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him as he led the way into his bedroom. There, on the edge of the bed, sat his queen, Celuwen. She looked up as they entered, hand resting on the edge of a high cradle. 

Glorfindel stopped short, watching as his nephew strode over to kiss his wife, and reached a hand down among the white blankets. A soft gurgling filled the room.

“I did not know -”

“We thought we might surprise you.” Thranduil replied. “Come, he is wide awake.”

Tiptoeing over, Glorfindel peeked over the edge of the cradle. There, lay a small babe, hardly a month old. As his father said, he was wide awake, and turned his blue eyes to Glorfindel as he neared.

“ _ Oh _ .” Was all the Knight of Gondolin could say.

“His name is Legolas.” Celuwen told him, glowing with joy.

“How...fitting” 

“Would you like to hold him?”

“Oh,” He breathed again. “I mean yes. I would like that very much.”

Thranduil immediately plucked his son out of his bed and pushed the infant into Glorfindel’s arms. From this new perspective, the little one fully turned his head to inspect him, a tiny fist clasping the lapel of his doublet. 

“My, you're very alert, aren't you?”

This earned him a gummy smile, generating such a rush of love within him that for a moment he lost his breath. Glorfindel kissed the babe's blonde crown, only for a second fist to close tightly around a lock of his hair. He gently tried to free himself while his Thranduil and Celuwen laughed quietly.

“Now I understand all of the decorations.” He remarked, having lost a few golden strands to his grandnephew. 

“They are as much for you as for Legolas.” Thranduil assured him. “I had been hoping you would visit for a long time. Rest well, Uncle. Tomorrow night we feast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ow my heart :')


	27. Glorfindel: Vision of Gondolin

Sleep came quickly, shrouding him in visions of the past. Around him the fountains built by King Turgon sang aloud, spraying their froth toward the star-clad heavens. The king himself was there, seated in his usual space. Idril danced and sang before him, free and vibrant.

At his side, Ecthelion chortled, taking in his arms one maiden of his liking and turning her in a slow pirouette as the minstrels played on. He made some snide remark regarding his friend's frigidity toward the opposite sex, elbowing Glorfindel sharply in the side. 

He smiled at his friend, whom he now could only see in his dreams, silently enjoying his mockery. Wondering what he might say now.

 

The room shifted, and was replaced with a bedchamber set high in the king's tower. In the facing wall were set two high glass doors, leading to a balcony which overlooked the eastern part of Turgon’s kingdom. As Glorfindel watched, Kri stepped inside, softly bringing the doors to behind herself,

In a few short strides he reached her, and what happened next was blurry. Of a sudden he had her face-down on the floor, tearing her white gown in two with groping hands. She did not protest, but he felt the shame of it burning in him as he bent over her like an animal. He cared not that he still wore his armor, that it was heavy, that he might hurt her. So intent was he on his own pleasure that he forgot all of these things, crushing her to the floor as he took her, not bothering to care for his lover before he finished inside her.

They were up. She was pulling him by the hand over to the bed. A shove against his chest and he fell, hitting the pristine linens with a  _ whump _ . Kri settled above him, her ragged nightgown melting away. He was naked too, he realized, and when she kissed him she ran her hands along his firm frame, igniting him again. Grabbing her, he flipped them, then turned and pulled her about like a plaything til she was thoroughly pinned beneath him in a most indignified way. Without hesitation, he took her again. Roughly once more, with a growl, he plunged into her, moaning raggedly at the heat of her. She sighed below, grasping the sheets and panting his name. The knight sat back on his haunches, lifting her hips up. He could see her better this way, could enjoy the lewd way her tits bounced as he fucked her fast, could hear perfectly every time she said his name.

The sensation mounted, and he began to grunt like a bull. Kri braced a hand against his chest, biting her lip as she tightened around him. He fell over her, biting down on one breast as it became too much, muffling her cry with one firm hand against her lips. There was a bruise there when he retreated, leaving his white seed glistening between her thighs.

 

He jolted awake, grumbling to himself as he noted his hand clamped firmly around his member, semen shining wetly on his stomach and fingers. Forcing himself up, he quickly washed, remnants of his shame causing him to scrub his chest and face as well as affected areas. 

Glorfindel, aware that it had been a dream, nonetheless loathed the direction his fantasy had turned. He had been too violent, too greedy. Recalling the black mark on Kri’s perfect breast, he shuddered.

_ Just a dream _ . He told himself.  _ You would never hurt her. It was just a dream.  _


	28. Chapter 28

She fancied that she still ached from the ferocity of his lovemaking. Of course that was just an illusion. It had all been a dream. Glorfindel would never behave like that. Kri grinned into her hand, feigning interest in a man slurring a ballad in the corner of the tavern.

Though Óren had been more than good to her during her stay, things had changed after that strained conversation at Aulë’s feet. His smiles became stretched, like a wounded man trying to conceal his pain, his words guarded and hesitant. His sister's had noticed the change, and attempted to cover their own uneasiness by spoiling Kri to the point of absurdity. Thus it was that she left sooner than she would have liked. 

But she was heading south now, drawing ever closer to Eryn Galen. Closer to the one she had missed most. She wondered how Glorfindel would feel, seeing her again, and her heart thumped as she pictured his face. His kin were another matter; her stomach knotted as she pondered how they might receive her. Would they be as welcoming as Óren’s folk? Would they shun her?

 

She set off soon after paying the innkeeper, allowing Duvah to meander down the muddy road. They passed a cart driven by a farmer and his son, and Kri stopped to buy a bag of apples. She and Duvah shared one as they walked side by side.

The ground began to slope once more, diving down into a vast plain. To the east, a jagged mountain stretched up into the clouds, and not far from its foot, a dark mass of green swathed the land. Kri mounted Duvah once more and spurred her on. 

Skirting the edge of the shadowy forest, she sought a path that might lead her to her destination without bringing her into the encroaching gloom. Duvah shared her sentiments, and sniffed nervously at the twisted, towering trees. The men at the tavern had told her stories of the creatures that roamed the great wood, and now she felt whatever courage she possessed ebbing away as she imagined she saw black shapes moving about in the unnatural night at her side. 

“I'm sure the spiders are much further in.” She whispered, rubbing her arms, which had suddenly turned to gooseflesh. Duvah grunted uncertainly, ears twitching in every direction. 

A twig snapped, and both she and her mare jumped, Duvah kicking at thin air. Kri drew her short sword, raising it in what she hoped was a confident manner. Recalling a trick her one-time mentor had taught her, she chanted a short spell, summoning an orb of red light to her hand. This she tossed among the clustered trunks.

A figure moved. An arrow sang past her head. Duvah screamed in fright and made to gallop away, but a voice sounded from the forest: “Halt! Who goes there!”

Kri resumed breathing.  _ Elves.  _ Finding her voice, she called back: “My name is Kri. I am a…a friend of Lord Glorfindel’s. I believe he is among you.”

Whispering. It seemed a dozen voices floated out of the gloom. Kri waited for another arrow to fly at her. The next one, she knew, would not miss. Hands shaking, she sheathed her sword and unbuckled it. The voices stopped when it hit the ground, followed by her bow and quiver. Duvah whinnied as she hopped down, empty hands raised in a gesture of surrender. 

A rustling to her left, and a tall Elf-warrior emerged into the light. He eyed her with suspicion as he picked up her weapons. These he passed to two of his companions, who lingered in the shadows, hoods drawn low.

“Who are you?” He repeated. 

“My name is Kri Ni Ioran.” She answered.

“You are not  _ Quendi _ .”

“No. I am Olari.”

“That word is not known to us.”

“We are...elusive.”

He glanced back at his people, and something unsaid passed between them. “We cannot allow you to enter our domain.”

“But!” She took a step toward him, and heard the others draw their weapons. Freezing, she implored: “But I have come such a long way! Surely Glorfindel has mentioned me!”

“You seem to presume he is expecting you.”

“Well, yes. He…” She hesitated. “He indicated as much. Um… May I take something from my bags?” 

One of the scouts exclaimed something.

“It is not a trick. I assure you.”

Their leader peered down at her, expression steely. “One false move, and my kinswoman shoots.”

“Understood.” Turning, Kri rummaged around in one of her saddlebags until she found the letters from Celebrían and Glorfindel she had received at the Havens. These she passed to the Elf. He noted the seals with a quirk of his brows before unfolding them. To her relief, he did not read them too thoroughly, but he did pocket them rather than hand them back.

“They will be returned to you at Lord Glorfindel’s word, only.” He gestured to the others lying in wait. “Bind and blindfold her.”

They were not ungentle, yet Kri could not help noting the undignified way in which they carried out their orders. Without a word to her, two scouts seized her and began to loop a silvery rope around her wrists, pulling it tightly and tying it around her waist so that her arms were caught behind her back. One of them removed his scarf and covered her eyes, not minding that he tied some of her hair into the blindfold in a way that pinched. She complained, and with a scowl he fixed it. 

Their commander clapped a hand down on her shoulder from behind, and one of the others yanked the rope forward. Still, they led her carefully, and apologized on the one occasion when she tripped, picking her back up. Duvah was allowed to walk freely, and she could hear her ambling along at her side, occasionally nudging her with her warm nose.


	29. Chapter 29

Her captor pulled her to a halt, and the one in front unravelled the rope from around her. A voice came in her ear: “The bridge is ahead, and beyond is the gate. I have sent my brother to fetch Lord Glorfindel, and I will lead you across alone. Walk straight and you will be fine.”

Kri gulped, imagining herself plummeting down onto jagged rocks within mere feet of Glorfindel. Nodding her understanding, she allowed him to guide her forward, placing one foot directly in front of the other as one walking a rope. Behind her, the Elf laughed.

“It is not  _ quite  _ so narrow. Walk normally. Here is the gate now. It is open. Once we are within I shall free you.”

The grey sunlight retreated from her eyelids, and was replaced by the warm glow of torches. As her back the gate thudded back into place. The blindfold was lifted from her eyes.

She took in a sharp breath. In Imladris, Lady Celebrían had captured the likeness of Menegroth on one of the larger garden walls; vast, winding tunnels running like a hive through a huge hill, boring down into the depths of the earth. Lit with tall torches and elaborate lamps, the animals carved into the walls and pillars seemed to shift and move. The walls had been decorated with murals set with gold, silver and jewels of all sizes and hues. And the people - those tall, fair Sindar, clad in colorful flowing robes, laughing and singing and dancing before a royal family glowing with the Light of Aman.

This was a shadow of that place of legend - beautiful in its own right, yet somewhat muted and cold. Kri wondered how many of these Elves remembered the Thousand Caves, the ancient king who built them, the queen who girdled the realm in magicks, and the princess lost forever. How many clung onto the memory of happier times?

“Kri?”

His voice broke through her reverie, and she turned to find him by her side. Oh, but she forgot how splendid he looked, with his golden hair and pale eyes. He smiled at her now, and her heart jumped. Forgetting that they were not alone, she threw herself at him, burying her face into his neck as his arms came around her. A soft chuckle against her ear. “ _ Hello _ .”

Wordless, she squeezed him tighter. She was well aware of the others now. Could sense them staring. Here was the moment of truth, as Glorfindel gently removed her from his embrace. The guards had backed to a respectful distance, and a couple stood by, tall and regal, with an infant sleeping soundly in his mother's arms. Kri glanced from the Elvenking to the Lord of the Golden Flower, and noted the resemblance there. So this was his sister-son.

With a hand at her back, Glorfindel saw to the formalities, and the king and queen bowed just as low to Kri as she to them. She relaxed a little at this. Perhaps they were more accepting than she thought.

“I must admit, my lady.” The king said at length. “That my uncle neglected to mention that he was expecting a guest.”

Kri scowled up at Glorfindel, who had the decency to blush. 

“Truthfully, I did not expect you to come so soon.” He admitted, glancing at her nervously. His hand pressed more firmly against her, and she understood that he had doubted whether she would come at all. 

“I hope I'm not intruding -”

The queen scoffed. “Not at all, my lady! Come. Let us find you a chamber. You must be exhausted, and we feast tonight.”

“Feast?” Kri echoed eagerly, trotting after her, Glorfindel sniggering as he followed.

 

A room was found for her; a rather small chamber, but sufficient. It even had a bath in one corner. Kri immediately asked for it to be filled, which was seen to at once. The royal couple excused themselves as some of the servants saw to the tub, leaving her more or less alone with Glorfindel.

They seemed to sway there for an age, each silently willing the other to speak. As much as she searched, Kri struggled to find the right words for all that she had to say. Settling on some of the wrong ones, she took his hand in hers, causing him to start. His fingers squeezed hers, and she finally managed to say: “I owe you an apology.”

At once he reacted, brow knitting together. “What? There is nothing to apologize for, you-”

“ _ Please _ ,” She interjected. “Let me finish. I don't intend to apologize for what happened, or for how I handled it after. I believe it was the right thing to do. But I was wrong to act so coldly toward you. And for that I am sorry.”

“It's nothing, really.” He insisted.

“No, it's not.” She went on. “I left without properly admitting - to either of us - how I felt about you. I neglected your feelings because I did not understand my own, and I hurt you.”

The servant returned with a tray of fragrances. Seeing them, she quietly set them across the bath and excused herself. Glorfindel fell quiet again, no doubt picking words of his own. When he spoke, his voice was small, and meek. 

“I thought you would not come.” Was all he managed. 

By admitting this, he spoke volumes, and Kri's heart twisted with regret. She lifted her hand, and for an instant he pulled back, puzzled. When she touched his warm cheek, he closed his eyes and sighed.

“Kiss me.” 

For the first time since he had seen her that day, he looked into her eyes. His hand held her so tightly it almost hurt, and she used it to pull him closer. Shaking, he touched his other hand to her waist, moving slowly as one afraid she might startle, breath seeming to catch as she tugged him down to her level. Gently, he let his lips brush hers, tracing the line of her mouth in a way that made her shiver. When she did not move away, he went further, pressing his mouth fully against hers. This time her lips parted, and she deepened the movement, suckling lightly at his lower lip, and then the upper, tightening her hold on him as he began to respond, fingers digging into her back as he drew her closer. Releasing his hand, she grasped the front of his tunic, holding him firmly to her. His freed hand at once dove into her snowy mane, tugging her face up further, his mouth covering hers. 

When she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he stiffened, and she wondered if he would pull away. His low gasp was enough to tell her otherwise as he raised his own tongue to meet her. He was inexperienced in this, it seemed, and she tried to guide him, stroking his tongue so that he shuddered with delight. 

Of a sudden he broke away. His eyes seemed to have taken on a deeper colour, and the light of Varda shone in them. Huskily, he said: “Your bath will be cold.”

Kri giggled. “Are you really concerned about that?”

He smirked. “No, but…”

It was getting too much for him, she knew. Could see him turning red now. She recalled her old teacher saying something about how seriously Elves took physical union of any kind, and respectfully backed away. Now was not the time.

The relief on his face was immediately apparent. He retreated to the door, an endearing smile quirking the corners of his mouth.

“I'll...see about some fresh clothes.” He offered, bowing out. 

 

The bath was nowhere near cold when she sank down into it, and Kri hummed happily as the warm water rose up to her neck. The maid had strewn petals over the surface of the water, and the aroma that wafted up to meet her was delightful. Taking her time, she saw to working the soft bar of soap into her skin, letting the white foam build up on her arms and legs before dunking down under the water. The shampoo smelt of vanilla, and she inhaled deeply as she massages it into her white locks. She went under again, holding her breath this time, enjoying the sensation of the bath salts fizzing all around her. When she surfaced once more, it was to lie lazily up against the sloped edge of the tub, half-dozing as she let her fingers and toes wrinkle.

A knock, and at her word another servant entered carrying a gown, and a small wooden box. These she left on the bed, quietly excusing herself as Kri shut her eyes once again, not yet ready to leave the heat of this sweet-smelling water. 

As soon as her bath began to cool, she reluctantly stepped out. Finding a fluffy white towel hung over the foot of the bed, she patted herself dry, sitting naked on the bed as she combed out her hair. 

The dress was made of pale blue silk, embroidered with silver and white niphredil about the hem, neck, and the ends of its belled sleeves. It was paired with a silver belt set with stones. Feeling the quality of the cloth, Kri wondered that it might be new. 

_ Surely he wouldn't…? _

Her eyes fell on the box. 

“And what's this?”

It was a circlet, such as the numerous ones Lady Celebrían had lent her. Two silver wires, loosely entwined, met on either side of a small diamond, and when she placed it upon her brow, strings of tiny pearls fell among her own pale tresses. Looking in the mirror, she noted how the colors offset her complexion, how the blue made her green eyes seem ever brighter, how these items had been carefully chosen for her. She turned, playing with her light skirts, admiring the glimmer of the pearls in her hair.

“Oh.” She whispered. “This is too much.”


	30. Chapter 30

Yet another knock on the door, and she opened it to find Glorfindel dressed in his finery. He wore a green brocade surcoat, threaded with gold and taken in at the waist, over a pristine white shirt. This was paired with cream-coloured breeches and brown boots. On his fingers shone several rings, and an intricate gold necklace hung around his neck. His long hair he had combed out of his face, allowing it to flow down his back. Realizing that they looked a pair, Kri grinned up at him.

He gaped. “You...you look…”

She fingered the gold buttons of his coat. “You look very handsome.”

He turned pink, puffing his chest out proudly. “And you look beautiful.”

Boldly, Kri closed the door behind her and took his hand. “Lead the way.”

 

Though the king's halls had been decked out for the celebration, the feast itself was not to take place underground. Instead, the congregation met in the throne room, and led by King Thranduil and Queen Celuwen they set out into the forest. 

All about the clearing, lanterns crafted into the likeness of the blossoms of Laurelin and Telperion dangled from the limbs of the darkened trees, and above, the stars shone clear next to a full moon. Several tables had been set out, lined on either side with chairs, with a high table set parallel to them. To their right as they entered, a pair of white tents stood bursting with busy cooks, who were hissing at the servers to finish setting places. 

Squeezing her hand, Glorfindel led her along the lines of tables, to where Thranduil stood waiting for them. Kri felt her stomach tie itself into a knot as she realized that she would have to sit here in front of all of his subjects. What would they think of her?

 

Glorfindel jogged her elbow, upsetting the peas from her fork and earning himself a glare. He only laughed, pouring another generous helping of sweet wine into her cup.

“You're awfully quiet.” He remarked. He had already finished his food, and was now on his fourth cup. His Elven blood prevented the alcohol from having much effect on him, but no one could deny the colour in his cheeks as he toyed with a white strand of hair. The gesture was not lost on the two ladies who had been watching him from one of the lower tables, and they proceeded to whisper behind their hands. “What's wrong?”

She pushed the greens around on her plate. “I suppose I feel somewhat…  _ Out of place _ .”

“Don't let them bother you.”

Kri let her eyes dart back over to the duo now eyeing her intently. “It's not just them.”

His hand moved to the back of her neck, thumb brushing her flesh. The sensation traveled down her spine and up into her head. Kri found herself thinking... _ inappropriate _ thoughts.

“Tell me.” He pressed.

“Do you think,” she asked. “Do you think your family really want me here?”

He frowned. “Thranduil himself suggested you sit by me.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” That alone made her feel better. “What would you do… If he were to  _ disapprove  _ of me?”

“Well that would be of no consequence.”

“Why?”

“Because I am his uncle, not the other way around, and he must show me due respect.” Glorfindel declared rather firmly, clearly not liking the idea. “And anyway, in matters of love no Eldar may condemn another's judgment. It is forbidden.”

“Love?” She breathed, straight looking up at him.

His thumb still caressed her neck, and his fingers traced her hairline. The way he looked at her made her flush to her very core. “Is this not a matter of love?”

Forgetting her plate, she touched a hand to his knee. “It is.”

He seemed sigh with relief, and kissed her firmly in response. Across the way, his admirers scowled, while no one else seemed even to notice. 

 

When everyone was done eating, the king stood once again. Wordlessly, they followed suit, allowing him to lead them through the gloom to yet another clearing, where minstrels awaited the guests. Merry on wine, Glorfindel pulled Kri into the ensuing dance, hushing her words of protest with more kisses until all she could do was laugh. Not far away, Thranduil swayed with Celuwen, kissing her cheeks as she nursed little Legolas.

Wriggling out of Glorfindel’s clutches as he attempted to drag her into a fifth dance, Kri darted away. She giggled as he tried to snatch her back, skipping through the crowd to sit on one of the many benches set about the field. He dropped down beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. It was the happiest she had ever seen him, and though she playfully craned away from his attentions, she found she was equally merry. Indeed, many of the folk around them seemed in a similar mood.

Looking about, Kri mused aloud: “What in the world was in that wine?”

A chortle at her neck, and Glorfindel met her gaze. “It is not the wine. It is the prince.”

“The  _ baby?” _

Sobering slightly, he tried to explain: “It is not often that a is granted to our kind. Legolas is the first baby born in centuries. It has an…  _ uplifting  _ effect on us.”

“I see.” She found the king and queen once more in the crowd. They certainly looked extremely happy. And very much in love. It warmed her heart. The influence it appeared to have on the rest of their people was tenfold. All around them were couples locked together, some in rather passionate embraces. Suddenly she realized that Glorfindel was actually being rather discreet.

Seeking to rectify this, she turned into his attentions, cupping his face to kiss him. He immediately pressed further against her, delving his tongue into her parted lips, hands sliding fluidly over the blue silk of her gown. She gasped when he reached to cup her breasts, breaking their kiss to glance about nervously.

“No one is looking.” He assured her, tracing the curve of her ear with his tongue. 

He was right. Though a few looked toward the benches, their eyes passed over them, uncaring as they searched for a seat of their own. 

Impatient, he turned her face back to him, threading his fingers through her pearl-laced hair, nigh laying her on the bench with the force of his kisses. Kri resisted that much. Such things were not for here. It proved difficult, as his groping hands continued to coax the heat building in her loins, and the taste of him only made her hungry for more. 

“ _ Melinyel.” _

The words, so abruptly whispered, caught her off guard, and she froze. Glorfindel, having let slip, pulled away, quickly colouring. Kri grabbed him back, covering his mouth with hers, willing his fear and doubt away. 

“ _ Melinyel, Laurefindil.”  _ She answered with equal conviction. 


	31. Chapter 31

Hearing her say it, he stopped once more, looking straight into her eyes. 

“Do you mean it?” He breathed, stroking her soft cheek.

“Of course I mean it.” She replied, turning her face to kiss her palm. “I love your face. I love your eyes and your golden hair. I love your strength, and your gentleness. I don't see how I could know you and not love you.”

He laughed then, a hint of relief in it. “Do you know how long I have waited to hear you say that?”

“I have been a long time about saying it.” She admitted. “Too long.” 

He stood, reaching down for her hand, which she offered gladly. Half-pulling her, he hurried through the thinning crowd, with her running along behind. Glorfindel led her through the night-clad wood and back into the Elvenking’s Halls, which were mostly empty. A few faces turned as they passed, exchanging knowing grins as soon as their backs were turned.

 

The door to Glorfindel’s chambers banged shut. Stomach a writhing mess of butterflies, Kri looked up at him questioningly. For an instant it seemed he would fall on her, but he halted a mere foot away, shuffling his feet and gazing thoughtfully down at her.

“What?” She urged, reaching for him. He allowed her to take his hand, which was clammy, but stepped back when she moved further, maintaining the distance between them. He opened and shut his mouth several times before managing to utter: “I desire you.”

Kri resisted the urge to laugh. She had never quite heard it put that way. Had never had anyone declare their intentions so brazenly. But the look in his eyes told her this was no laughing matter. “I am aware, Laurefindil.”

The use of his true name brought a smile to the tight line of his mouth, and he squeezed her hand. “But I must ensure that you understand… That my people do not take such things lightly. It is considered sacred, and I would be bonded to you after… I cannot do this if you will not return my fidelity.”

Kri considered him a long while, willing her mind to scrutinize the beating of her heart. At this point she knew she had two choices: accept him, and stay with him, or refuse and lose him forever. Her deliberation took so long that he hung his head, assuming denial.

She touched a hand to those beautiful golden locks, and kissed his lowered forehead. “You are all I want, and I would be bound to you.”

He drew a deep breath, enfolding her in his arms, crushing her to him with surprising strength, and when he kissed her now, he did so unhindered by doubt, clutching at her. Kri was lost in his affection, struggling to match the pace he now set. Really, she did not need to, as he gladly took control.

Reaching around her, his fingers yanked at the laces of her gown, shoving it off her shoulders as soon as it was loose enough. He moaned quietly at the feeling of her flesh under his palms, breaking away to look. She stood, unsure of what to do as he gently touched and stroked her, unused to such attentions. Remembering the circlet, she lifted it from her head. Glorfindel at once took it, and went to place it on the side table. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned her.

“Come and lie down. I want to please you.”

Tilting her head slightly, she obeyed, crawling onto the sheets behind him. Feeling suddenly exposed, she shivered and watched his back as he bent to unlace his boots, kicking them off before relieving himself of his surcoat as well, throwing the fine garment carelessly over the baseboard.

Now clad only in breeches and a shirt, he turned and laid on his side, bending to capture her lips in languid kisses which made her toes curl. Unhurriedly, this time, his hand caressed her, moving through her hair, along the curves of her body, head dipping to kiss where it passed. When he sought the tender skin of her inner thighs, it tickled, and she squirmed slightly.

“Is it alright?” He asked huskily, lips at her neck for the moment. His fingers were teasing the outer edges of her sex now, and her breathing was becoming further punctuated.

“ _ Yes _ .” Kri responded, threading her fingers through his hair as he further acquainted himself with her pert breasts. She had been touched in all of these places before, but not like this. All she remembered were hasty fumblings by the fireside, none of which had brought her much enjoyment. This was different. As he placed his hand over her now, she knew he would find her already wet. Most of her past lovers would take this as an invitation to see to their own needs, but he continued to stroke her, using his long digits in a way that made her breath hitch.

“Uh!” She blurted.

At once he looked up from between her legs. Kri felt herself turning crimson.

“No?” He queried, raising his eyebrows. 

“Not ‘no’, but…” He kissed her there again, and she struggled to form words. “I just… I mean… I never…”

Grinning, he ran his tongue along her this time. Kri gasped at the ensuing sensation, trying to comprehend it. As she did not protest, Glorfindel continued, and his efforts paid off as she began to moan. 

As her pleasure heightened, he removed himself to claim her mouth once more, lips wet from her arousal. Emboldened, Kri reached her hands under his shirt, feeling the hardness of his chest and back, running her fingers over him delicately so that at times he groaned, and at others let out a short laugh. It seemed he was ticklish. Breaking away for an instant, he shrugged his shirt off and tossed it aside, treating her to a full view of his bare chest and stomach. Kri grinned. When he began to undo his laces, that grin broadened.

Taking her hand, he looked down at her imploringly.

“Touch me, a little?”

She nodded, allowing him to press her fingers around his hardened shaft. He leaned over her again, nibbling at her neck, grunting as she took eagerly to her task. His fingers returned to her folds, seeking entry. Gently, slowly, he began to stretch her, swallowing her groans as he found an angle that suited her. As he began to thrust into her hand, he grasped her wrist.

“Kri?” Another request.

She nodded again, pulling him toward her, letting him find her. He kissed her deeply now, tongue dancing with hers as he pushed his hips forward. She made a noise as he filled her, clutching at his shoulders. Above her, Glorfindel veritably growled. 

Slowly, slowly, he took her, knowing that they were both unused to such things. Wrapped in his embrace, Kri moaned and whimpered, already excited by his foreplay, but she wanted  _ more _ . As she rolled her hips against him, he paused, then moaned, fingers digging into her rear as he matched her rhythm. He kissed her hair, her ears, her cheeks, whispering things in Quenya that made her heart melt.

This was their marriage, here in the silence of the night, exchanging heartfelt vows as they coupled, falling into ecstasy together, all feelings and emotions unhindered. So much so that as Kri reached her end, Glorfindel held her fast to him, forehead pressed to hers, both of them weeping as they came undone, the light of love shining in their hearts.


	32. Chapter 32

When they arrived at Imladris, nigh six moons later, Celebrían rushed out to meet Kri, falling into her arms with a delighted noise, kissing her cheek. Caught slightly off guard, Kri stumbled, but held her gladly. It had been so very long since she had seen her, and the lady was all aglow. 

“You must tell me everything.” She exclaimed, holding Kri out to have a look at her. “Every. Single. Detail.”

Elrond embraced her too, though with somewhat more restraint, and only pecked her dryly on the forehead. Glorfindel, he grabbed by the arms, offering his congratulations as Celebrían linked arms with his new wife, dragging her inside. 

Once in the foyer, Celebrían invited Kri to bathe with her. Kri, having become much more confident following her stay with the Dwarves, gladly accepted, and at once moved in the direction of the baths. Of a sudden, the lady burst out laughing, and put her hands out to halt Glorfindel.

“I understand your desire to be with your good wife.” She chortled. “But I meant for her to join me  _ alone _ .”

Glorfindel promptly turned the same shade of crimson as his tunic, and looked to Elrond, who had his face buried in his hands and was shaking with laughter. As a sort of rescue, Kri granted him a chaste kiss on the lips, which seemed to work. 

 

“The Dwarf  _ truly _ wished to marry you?” Celebrían pressed, more intrigued by this than any part of her tale.

Kri was focused on brushing the dirt out from under her nails. “That's what he told me.”

“Do you think...if things were different…?”

She sighed, looking through the steam at her friend. Against the dark tiles of the room, Celebrían glowed. Her silver hair, grey eyes and white skin all emitted a light which reflected on the surface of the water. It struck Kri that this was a person who had never wanted anyone but her husband, and the prospect of there being any other was alien to her. Yet there was no judgment in her gaze. Merely curiosity. 

“If things had been different, if I had never met Glorfindel… I think I might have accepted.” She answered. “I would have tried at least.”

Celebrían gazed at her a long while. “Have you told Glorfindel?”

She shifted in her seat. “No.”

The lady's mouth formed a tight line. “Don't you think you should?”

Another person might have kept their mouth shut. And a person other than Kri might have become defensive at this point. But she knew Celebrían spoke honestly, and from the heart. It was reason she had come to love her. 

“I do.” She said. “And I will. I'm just not sure what to say. I don't want him to be upset, or worried.”

“I know.” Celebrían said with a smile. The lady then stood, water cascading off her slim figure as she stepped up onto the tiled floor. Kri watched her as she dried herself off, noting her flat stomach.

“Have you and Elrond…” She asked. “Have you had any success?”

Her friend placed a hand over her belly with a heavy sigh. “No. We have been trying ever since you left. To no avail.”

“How long does it usually…?”

“Oh, it took decades to conceive the twins.” She responded. “Arwen was easier, only a year or two. I had hoped Eru might be even more easily swayed this time.”

“Don't give up.” Kri urged, folding her arms over the lip of the bath.

“No.” Celebrían wrapped a robe loosely around herself and sat on one of the marble benches. “She's in Lothlórien now.”

“Arwen?”

“Yes. My mother invited her to stay awhile. Once she read the letter there was no stopping her. It's been years since she saw her grandparents.”

“You miss her?”

“Intensely.”

“Why don't you go, too?”

“I had thought about it. Maybe, if we have no success in the next year or so…”

 

Glorfindel was reading by the window when she entered. At his request, Elrond had arranged larger chambers for them on the western side of his residence, which featured a wall of glass on one side, with doors leading out onto a broad veranda. Kri eyed the small picture windows near the ceiling in particular with appreciation, noting that the devices of many of the great houses were present, though the House of Fëanor was absent. At the center, above the doors, a rayed sun shone golden in the moonlight.

“They needn't have gone to such trouble.” Glorfindel remarked, following her gaze. “And they furnished the rooms for us, as well.”

“We shall have to think of a way to repay him.” Kri said gazing around at the sofas and chairs which had no doubt been made to order. Traversing the room, she opened the double doors to the bed chamber. The four-poster had been draped in white silks, and a fresh bouquet sat in a crystal vase atop the chest of drawers. She grinned back at him. “It is splendid, I must say.”

“How is Lady Celebrían?”

“Well.” She answered, noncommittally.

A frown. “Just ‘fine’?”

“She misses Arwen.”

“So does Lord Elrond.” Glorfindel replied. “He is also...fine.”

“I see.”

“Do you know what the matter is?”

“I'm not sure it's my place to say it, if Elrond hasn't told you.” She explained.

“Oh.” He nodded, banishing his curiosity. “What else did you talk about?”

Kri went over and sat opposite him. “This and that. Mostly about my travels, and events here…”

He narrowed his eyes. “ _ And _ ?”

She reached out and took his hand. “She pushed me in the right direction.”

It was clear from his face that Glorfindel did not like the direction this conversation was taking. 

“I'm afraid I've not told you everything… About Óren.”

“The Dwarf?”

“Yes, the Dwarf.”

“Tell me.”

“He...um… Was  _ fond _ of me.”

The confusion on his face pained her, and his fingers tightened around hers. “What do you mean?”

“He had a... _ romantic _ interest in me.”

At once Glorfindel began to laugh. “That's absurd!”

Kri scowled. “What makes you say that?”

“He's a  _ Dwarf _ !”

“Yes.” She said flatly. “That doesn't mean he wouldn't be interested in me.”

“I know  _ that _ .” He said. “It's just...unheard of. They don't mix with other races. His family would never allow it!”

“His sisters seemed to approve.”

“ _ Really?” _

“Yes.”

Now he just looked bemused. “How curious.”

“You're not angry?”

“Of course not, who can blame him?”

“What about me?”

A frown again. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“Because...for a moment I was tempted.”

His mouth snapped shut, and though he still held her hand, he moved physically back from her. “You were?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Óren is a good person. He's honest, and generous, and kind. I looked at him and saw someone who would make a good husband. Who would care for me.”

She saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and realized how close to tears he was. “What made you refuse?”

“I love you.” Kri answered simply. “Not him. I consider him a friend, but… If I married him it would only be for convenience’s sake, not love.”

His thumb stroked her forefinger now, and though tears pricked his eyes he smiled. “You didn't need to tell me this.”

“No. But I think deserve to know.”

Now he lifted her hand, and leaned over to kiss it. That was how Kri knew she had done the right thing, though it had stung him a little, her honesty only brought them closer together.


	33. Chapter 33

Their life in Imladris was a quiet one for a long time, but as the years went on, a shadow began to pass over the land. In Eryn Galen, Thranduil reported an increase in arachnid activity, and bands of Orcs passing through the forest. He and his people retreated to their caves, barring the gate behind them. Some of them whispered of fouler things stirring, particularly further south, where a few had encountered specters and even a vampire, which passed overhead, reeking of blood and death.

From the south, from Gondor, came news of Orc raids, and increased activity in Mordor, where the horrid creatures were said to be multiplying, including a bigger, stronger breed which seemed to come from Minas Ithil. They also heard of apparent civil unrest in the realms of Harad and Rhûn, which had previously been peaceful and untouched by corruption.

Mithrandir came and went more frequently, and his countenance became more strained, his figure more stooped, as though Weighed down with an immense burden. On some occasions, he took their husbands with him.

 

Celebrían lifted a lace kerchief to her eyes and dabbed delicately at the tears that had started to fall. Kri, hearing her quiet sniff, went to the table and put her arms around her, kissing her silver hair.

“They won't be gone long.” She assured her. “Mithrandir said they would only investigate, not engage.”

“And what if those creatures engage  _ them _ ?” The lady whined, balling the finely made lace in her fist. “Damn them, those -”

She let out a string of cursed venomous enough to make Kri’s ears burn. 

“I am certain they will be back before long.”

“And what if they return under a sheet?”

“We mustn't think of such things.”

“ _ Why not!” _

“It does them and us no good.”

“But you cannot deny-”

“No, I cannot.” Kri admitted. “But where I come from, we believe the gods - who may also be your Valar- value faith, and are more likely to reward it.”

“I put my faith in them, Kri.” Celebrían said. “And they gave me my reward. I have been given my dues.”

Kneeling, Kri frowned up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Arwen is in Lothlórien with my mother, close to the mouth of doom. My husband and my sons ride forth into danger, and I sit here, having gotten what I wanted, at their expense.”

“You're not…?”

Celebrían laughed, then choked, muffling the sound with her clenched fist. “Oh, but it would be one elaborate trick of faith, would it not? For Eru to give me-”

“ _ Stop!” _ Kri snarled. “No more of that, do you hear me?”

Her friend wiped at her eyes again. “Oh, you're right. You're right.”

“Does Elrond know?”

“He knew before I did. As usual.”

“Then he will return. You'll see.”

 

As per her prediction, Elrond, Glorfindel, and the twins rode through the gate some weeks later. They had encountered a wandering group of Orcs, and Elrond sported a gash across the forehead, while Glorfindel held his left arm close to his chest in a makeshift sling. Elladan and Elrohir, as usual, were untouched. 

Celebrían dragged Kri out by the hand to meet them, charging straight at her husband, who just about managed to catch her when she flung herself at him. She was just beginning to show, and he tentatively pressed a hand to her abdomen.

Glorfindel mounted the steps to his wife with slow, measured steps, for it seemed his left leg also pained him. She reached out an arm as he neared, and let him lean slightly on her as they embraced. 

“What happened to you?” She queried, carefully pushing the sling aside to examine his forearm, which was tied up in a splint, his sleeve having been cut away. 

“I was knocked off by a wainrider.”

“Your leg?”

“Bruised, but not broken. At least according to Elrond.”

“You disagree?”

“I think a break would hurt less, yes.”

“You're not exaggerating?”

“The fact that I am standing does not indicate the absence of maddening agony.”

“Not just looking for sympathy?”

“Not at all. However -” He grinned. “Should you feel the urge to take me abed and nurse me back to health, I would not object.”

He pretended to swoon, sniggering as she cursed and staggered under his full weight.

 

Despite his life-threatening condition, her husband was eager to return to their chambers, and even more eager to undress her. She hardly had the door closed when he pinned her against it, claiming her mouth greedily, only breaking away when he leaned too close, causing his broken arm to become wedged between them. Hissing, he retreated, cradling the limb. Kri followed, and turning him took his good hand. When she guided his fingers to the laces of her gown he understood, yanking them apart roughly, complaining that he would be faster with both hands. Kri reached to help and he slapped her hand aside.

“I can do it myself!”

“Are you sure?” She teased, accepting a firm pinch on the rear with a giggle.

It took a great deal of time, but eventually Glorfindel managed to get her out of the ‘cursed dress’, reaching around to tug the bodice away from her breasts. The garment crumpled to the floor and Kri stepped out of it, leading him by the elbow into the bedroom. 

Gently, she undid the sling, and coaxed his arm out of his clothing, to much growling and swearing. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally stood barechested before her. Kri spread her palms across his torso, letting her hands and mouth roam freely over his soft skin, kissing his bruises and willing away his pain.

Finally freed from his breeches, Glorfindel was allowed to indulge in his wife's words of pity and praise. His arm she could not see for the bandages that held it together, but his leg had been left to heal on its own, and as he knew, the outer side of it was a rainbow of bruises from where he had hit the ground. To his delight, she went down on her knees, kissing the discoloration, fingers stroking the uninjured places she could reach, which happened to include his hardened member. Nibbling on his hip, she took him in hand, squeezing and working him expertly, causing him to grunt and moan, and buck his hips when she lightly flicked the tip with her tongue.

Kri took him into her mouth, smiling up at him when she heard his breath catch. Oh, how she had missed that look on his face! She swallowed as much as she could and released him, enticing a strangled sound from gritted teeth. A few more times and his knees were buckling. The sound he let out then was not one of pleasure and she noticed him lift his battered leg. Kri stopped at once and stood.

“Lie down.”

Eagerly, he did as instructed, resting back on the soft mattress as she straddled him. He stretched his arm out of the way and she placed a pillow under it. He bit his lip as she positioned his cock against his stomach, growling slightly as she rubbed herself up against it, making herself wet. 

“Do you hurt?” She breathed, shuddering as her clit began to burn. He shook his head no, reaching up to squeeze her breasts. She was close, she could feel. Raising herself, she angled him toward her, Glorfindel's hand at her hip, urging her on as she lowered herself onto him. 

Ever so gently, she took him, watching his face for any sign of pain. On the few occasions when he winced, she stopped and waited for him to right his arm or leg as necessary. Eventually he seemed to find a position that did not jolt either of them, and his expression relaxed. Kri rocked atop him, groaning as he moved his thumb over her nub. Again, she could feel the sensation building, and picked up her pace, planting her hands either side of him, watching his face as he felt her grow ever tighter. Soon, she began to sway out of sync, overcome as her nerves began to sing. Pulling her further down, her husband groaned loudly and bent his good knee in an effort to thrust up into her. The new angle sent him deep, and she cried his name, brushing her fingers through his golden hair as she reached her peak.

 

Panting, she fell against his chest, immediately rolling off with apologies when he yelped in pain; she had inadvertently kicked his tender shin. Lying next to him, she traced the line of his mouth as he gazed warmly at her, their lust sated for the moment.

“Lady Celebrían feared you would not return. Any of you.” She told him.

“Yet here I am.”

“Here you are.” She kissed him softly. “You and her husband both.”

Presently, a strange look came over his features, and he asked: “How fares the Lady of Imladris?”

“Well enough.” Kri answered, examining his beautiful face. “Sometimes the little one makes her ill, but that is to be expected.”

“Let us hope that is the worst that befalls her.”


	34. Chapter 34

Glorfindel's words, expression, and especially the flat tone of his voice continued to put her ill at ease for some time. Following what he said, she continued to feel a sense of foreboding whenever she looked at her friend, a sensation that was only heightened when Celebrían revealed her plans to travel beyond the mountains.

“It has been so very long since I saw my mother and father.” She said, shoving a nightgown into her bag carelessly. “As for Arwen… Mother writes that she has grown considerably since her arrival. Oh! I feel it has been  _ forever _ since last I saw her face! I can hardly remember it!”

She ambled to and fro, filling her bag with this and that, nattering on about her parents and daughter, musing about what Arwen might have learned in her time in Lothlórien. All the while, the dread sank deeper into Kri’s heart, until she sprang up, and braced her friend. In her arms, Celebrían giggled.

“Oh now.” The lady scolded. “None of that. I would invite you, you know. But I understand you cannot be apart from Glorfindel at present. Another time...another time…” She turned away, and went back about her business, and as Kri observed, her mood seemed to darken, until finally she turned and said: “I wish you both the best, you know. I… I want you to know that.”

 

Celebrían left the next morning, with her sons guarding her. It was not far to Lothlórien, Kri told herself, and both her friend and her sons were fighters, with fine blades at their blades and courage in their hearts. She tried to tell herself that her fears were unbidden.

But they were not.

Just a few days after their departure, the party was waylaid in Redhorn Pass. Four guards fell, and the twins returned without their mother. Elladan had been nicked across the eye. The wound was swollen with infection, but his father soon healed it. Elrohir had managed to dislocate a shoulder, but his father mended it. They went forth again with a search party into the mountains.

This time they did not return empty handed.

 

Celebrían lay among her soft sheets, eyes closed, silver hair brushed out over her pillow. Her right eye was swollen shut, her lip burst. Elrond had tried to fix them, but she had thrown the basin at him, screaming profanities. At the far end of the house, her husband sat with Glorfindel, drinking Dwarven whiskey and not uttering a word.

The bed creaked, and dipped under Kri’s weight. In her cozy cocoon, the Lady of Imladris stirred, and she immediately hated herself for disturbing her. For as her friend met the waking world, a paroxysm of pain contorted her fine features, and she whined against it.

“I did not mean to wake you.” She whispered, brushing damp strands from her white forehead.  _ She's practically grey. By the Valar, Elrond said there was no infection… _

Celebrían drew a hand over her eyes, letting it flop limply back down by her side. 

“I dreamt of her.”

Kri's heart twisted, and she drew a long breath. “Celebrían, you mustn't-”

“Kri,  _ do not _ !” She fair lady spat. “Don't tell me not to think of her. Do not dare!”

She hung her head, not knowing what to say. She had tried to be comforting, but that only seemed to make Celebrían more upset. She had tried being factual, but that only made her friend angry. Whatever she - or anyone - tried, all cheer seemed to be gone from the lady's soul.

So instead she asked: “What did you see?”

“I saw the silver shores.” Celebrían told her, the ghost of a smile on her face. “And halls higher and vaster than any other, along which were seated those who have passed. For the first time I looked into the faces of my mother's kin. I knew them, and they knew me. The rows of chairs seemed to go on forever, until she looked up. Right into my face..”

Now the beautiful lady began to cry. She shook with it, as she had done a dozen times before. Kri kissed her cheeks. “I saw her again, frolicking in the gardens of Tirion…”

Her brows knitted. “Oh no. That it not her. I was confused…”

The dream took her, and without another word, Celebrían fell once more into a deep sleep. That night, as with all others, Elrond would lie beside her and hold her. Her sons said he spoke to her whether she answered or not, and sometimes, just sometimes, he found the bliss of sleep. 


	35. Chapter 35

Days, weeks, months passed, and still Celebrían did not improve. Though at last she rose from her bed, she did so only to wander aimlessly about the house. She seldom spoke, and then only to Elrond, her sons, or, if she was lucky, Kri. Elrond remarked that she hardly ate or drank, and it showed on her. The lady was grey, drawn, and thin. Her hair hung limply and unkempt, and the light in her eyes was slowly waning. 

At present, she stood before a painting of Nargothrond, which showed Finrod Felagund seated on his throne, with all of his kin around him. In the bottom left corner, Galadriel and Celeborn looked on.

“He was my mother's brother.” Celebrían spoke, blinking out of the trance that had held her there for a worrying amount of time. “She loved him so much she defied the Valar to follow him into exile.”

Kri watched as she touched the painted face lovingly. Again, her friend fell silent, eyes glazed, staring up at Felagund. On her arm she spotted the rising gooseflesh.

“It is cold, Celebrían. Let us go inside.”

The lady did not hear her. Still pressed to the painted face, her fingers did not even twitch. With a sigh, Kri placed her hands on her shoulders. Her slumped, bony shoulders.

“My Lady, I am cold. I'd like to go in now.”

Celebrían started and looked into her face. Kri cringed as her eyes seemed to see past her.

“Yes, of course, Darling. Let's sit by the fire.”

 

Celebrían sat, unmoving, for hours, gaze fixed on the dancing flames. By her side, Kri had her nose stuck in a book. She had tried reading aloud, but that only managed to distress the lady. So she sat quietly, looking up now and then to observe the amber light as it cast shadows across her friend's face, creating some semblance of movement.

The door edged open, and Elrond appeared, tiptoeing over to where they sat. Kri leaned over the back of the couch and motioned for him to wait, which he did. He looked concerned. Nowadays he always looked concerned. 

“Celebrían.” She whispered, touching a hand to her back. “Celebrían, Elrond is here.”

“Who?”

The Lord of Imladris visibly winced, turning his face away.

“Your husband, My Lady. Your Lord husband is here.”

“Oh.” Celebrían stirred, and turned to look up at Elrond. Tentatively stepping into the firelight, he knelt down nd brushed his fingers through his wife's silver hair. To both of their relief, Celebrían leaned into his touch.

“I have received news from Lothlórien, my love.” He told her -them-. “Your parents are coming.”

“Parents?”

A strained expression flashes across his features. “Galadriel and Celeborn.”

“Ah.”

“They are bringing Arwen with them.”

For the first time in many months, the Lady of Imladris smiled. “ _ Arwen. _ ”

“Yes. She -” His voice caught, and he inhaled sharply through his nose. “She wanted to see you.”

“Arwen is coming!” Celebrían exclaimed, laughing with joy. She turned to Kri, who grinned back.

“Yes, My Lady. I heard.”

 

There were no more feasts in the House of Elrond, not while his wife was sick. He had tried so very hard to balance his duties in the early months of Celebrían’s affliction, but in the end his wife had taken priority over his guests, and no longer graced those gathered in the banquet hall with his presence. 

In their chambers, Kri and Glorfindel were served a fine meal of roasted lamb, with all the trimmings of a miniature feast for two, including a fragrant red wine. Kri pushed her food around on her plate while her husband picked fussily at his meat. She took a sip of her favorite wine and grimaced at the sour taste it left on her tongue. Glorfindel, on the other hand, poured it down his throat like water.

“Why are Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn coming here?” She finally asked.

He feigned interest in his peas. “They wish to see their daughter.”

“Why?” She pressed hoarsely. “Why now? In all the years they have been here, they have never come north -”

“You know why.” He grumbled. “Lady Celebrían is sick. She cannot travel. Not in her condition.”

“And she's not getting better, is she?” Kri croaked. “She will…”

_ Die _ . But the word would not come. She threw her fork down, covering her mouth to catch her sob. Glorfindel stood, bending to hold her. His golden hair fell around her like a veil, and she buried her face in his chest. 

“She won't.” He said thickly. “She won't, Kri. I swear to you. Her mother was an apprentice of Lórien, and then of Melian. She will heal her. You'll see.”

 

The presence of her parents and daughter alone seemed to bring about a drastic improvement in Celebrían. She began to speak, to smile, and to laugh once more. The evening after their arrival, she insisted that Elrond hold a feast, and though a shadow still loomed over her face, she ate and drank and danced with them well into the night. 

But the hurt was still there. It was clear in the way she clung to Arwen and her mother, loth to be apart from them. This, her mother bore happily. Her daughter, on the other hand, now in the throes of adolescence, tolerated it only in the beginning, and soon became impatient. On one occasion, her father even took her aside at lunch. The two were gone for quite a while before Arwen shuffled back in, shamefaced, and hugged her mother close, her beautiful face stained by tears.

 

That very evening, Celebrían summoned Kri to her rooms. When she entered, the Lady of Imladris stood gazing out of the open northward window. Bathed as she was in moonlight, her silver hair seemed to have regained its pearlescent sheen. But Kri could see how her gown hung loosely on her shoulders, how she fidgeted with her wedding band, and knew she still ailed.

“Come here, Kri. Look.”

She obeyed, joining her friend at the sill and looking up. The moon was nearing its zenith, and on the edge of its halo shone the North Star.

“Eärendil.” Celebrían said. “I have been speaking with him.”

“Is that so?” Kri responded, eyeing the shimmering point of light.

“Do not mock. Mother showed me how, many centuries ago. When I was still courting his son.”

“What does he say?”

“Now? Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have been asking him to lead me to Elvenhome.”

Kri felt her heart crack. “ _ Oh _ .”

“Now now, do not weep, my friend.” Said Celebrían, who seemed likely to do so herself. 

“You're right. I should not.” Kri replied, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Celebrían produced a kerchief from her pocket and pressed it into her hand. “I know you have been poorly. So poorly that I feared you would...that you would not heal.”

“I cannot heal in this place, Kri.” Celebrían explained. “I smell its poison in the air, taste it in its food and drink, hear it in the cries that come at night. My spirit is broken. It will not heal here.”

Kri nodded, trying to control herself. With a bitter smile, Celebrían embraced her. 

“You brought me here to say goodbye, didn't you?”

A kiss upon her damp cheek. “I did. I am sorry. I seek the havens tonight.”

“Why tonight?”

“Because the moon is full, and Eärendil is at his brightest.” The lady told her. “The terrors will not come forth under his gaze.”

Kri looked up at the star, and silently thanked him for his service. 

“Ask your question.” Celebrían urged. “And let me comfort you.”

“Will…” She drew a deep breath. “Will we meet again someday? In Aman?”

Celebrían grinned now, and for an instant the light returned to her face. “I have seen it. And something more.”

“What?”

“I have seen her, dancing upon the grasses of Túna, laughing in the streets of Tirion, flowers in hand and diamonds in her hair. The perfect cut of you both.  _ And I cannot wait to meet her. _ ”


	36. Chapter 36

When Allarían was born, over five centuries later, colored lanterns were hung about every room in Imladris. Larger ones were hung in the gardens, streams, about the falls, and even along the Pass. Elrond himself gifted her with jewels befitting a queen.

“It is Celebrían’s gift to you as much as it is mine.” He told them. “She foresaw it...she told me what to give her.”

Other gifts came. From the twins, from Arwen and even the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. 

“After all.” Elrond remarked grimly. “She may be the last of our kind to be born in this land. For the shadow is growing.” 

 

Kri sat on the bed, nursing the baby and humming some melody she remembered from her own childhood, when Glorfindel burst through the door, muddy and travelworn. He crossed the room to kiss her, and immediately began to strip. 

“It is too soon for another My Love.” She jested.

He laughed and winked at her, kicking off his stinking breeches and striding off to bathe. 

“Lord Elrond sent me after a group of Halflings traveling this way.” He told her. The tap squeaked as he turned it, and she heard the gurgle of the inset tub filling. 

“Halflings?” She echoed, remembering Breehill and the people she had met there so long ago. “Why were they headed here? They hardly ever leave their hearths.”

He peeked his head round the door, giving her a nice view of his bare arse. “One of them is the Ringbearer.”

“ _ The _ Ringbearer?”

A splash. A sigh. “Apparently, yes.”

“You mean… ?”

“Mm-hm.”

Allarían released her, and she rose. He was seated with his arms stretched out over the tiled lip of the bath. Hefting her daughter over one shoulder, she lifted the hem of her gown and sat, dipping her feet into the milky water. The babe fussed in her arms and she turned her to face her father. With one hand planted on Kri's thigh, Glorfindel reached over to take Allarían’s little hand. 

“Did you see it?” Kri asked.

“No. He was injured. I had to bring him to Elrond before…” 

“He is safe now?”

He nodded, then looked up at her. “It was the Nazgûl, Kri.”

The word sent a chill down her spine. In her arms, Allarían began to cry.  _ Hushing  _ softly, Glorfindel plucked her up and cradled her against his chest.

“You're getting her robe wet.”

He gave her his best ‘who cares’ look and proceeded to cuddle into her. She soon calmed enough to doze, her father's gold chain caught in her fist. 

“What will happen now?” She asked. “Will the Halflings stay here?”

He scowled. “ _ Eru, _ no. As soon as the Ringbearer is well enough, they should leave.”

“Where to?” She asked. “And for what purpose?”

“It has not been decided yet.” He replied. “Elrond has called a council. We will decide there.”

“Can it be destroyed?”

“Everything can be destroyed.”

“Good.” She retrieved her daughter and, complaining loudly about her dampened clothes, changed her and laid her in her crib.

From the bathroom, a voice floated out: “ _ Kri? _ ”

She knew that tone. “What do you want?”

“Wash my hair?”


	37. Chapter 37

The Halfling had risen, Glorfindel told her, and representatives from every corner of the land had gathered in Elrond’s house; from Eryn Galen, Lothlórien, from the realms of Men, and even a handful of Dwarves. To both her and Glorfindel's surprise, Thranduil had not come himself, but had sent young Legolas as his ambassador. The babe she had seen so many centuries ago was now a young man, who towered over her when the embraced, with a bow at his back and a knife on his belt. He fell in love with Allarían at once, and Kri wondered that she was perhaps the first infant he had ever seen, for in recent decades the Quendi had ceased to marry, or produce children. In Mirkwood, still tainted by Sauron’s presence, she had no doubt that the Sindar above all others feared for their potential offspring.

Others, too, were intrigued by the infant. Indeed the two younger Halflings treated her as an object of pure fascination, near fainting when Kri offered her daughter to one of them where he sat.

“Oh...oh dear.” He squeaked, looking at her lying in his lap, for he deemed himself too small to hold her while standing. “Oh, but I could never imagine an Elf could be so small.”

Allarían squirmed in her sleep, inducing a quiet panic in the lad.

“Hold still, Pip!” The other hissed, gently petting her wisps of golden hair. “If she cries Lord Glorfindel will be having  _ your _ head, not mine!”

Poor Pippin glanced up at Kri, wide-eyed with fear. 

“Lord Glorfindel.” She retorted. “Once made her cry by putting her into a bath that had gone tepid. Do not worry about him.”

 

The council seemed to go on for an age, and the young Hobbits became increasingly uneasy. Kri invited them to join her in her rooms for lunch in an effort to keep them out of trouble, which they politely declined. Had she been less keen to get Allarían to bed, she might have been suspicious, but as it was she left them to their own devices, which inevitably drove them to spy on the council.

Glorfindel told her all about it, pacing the room anxiously and bunching a hand in his silky hair. Sauron, the Ring, forces marching to Mordor from the east and south. It all stank of war, another great war, such as he had faced before, and the fear of it was written across his face.

“Elrond wants to send Legolas to Mordor.  _ Legolas! _ ” He growled. “And of course the boy agreed! He thinks he can earn a name for himself by traveling east. By accompanying the Ringbearer. He does not see that he is marching into the jaws of death!”

“Legolas is no fool, My Love.” She assured him. “He knows the risk.”

“He is  _ too young _ !” He exclaimed, ignoring her  _ shushing _ \- Allarían was sleeping in the next room. “I cannot stay here in safety, while he is sent on this  _ suicide mission _ . Perhaps there is still time to convince Elrond.”

She barred his way before he could reach the door. “You  _ will not _ .”

“Kri, you don't understand -”

“I understand perfectly.” She shot back. “Do you think I do not care for him, too? But he is near full grown, and this is  _ his  _ decision, not yours.”

“How can I face Thranduil again, having let his son face this danger?”

“What about your daughter?” Kri said. “You say the darkness is growing, that the Nazgûl roam these lands. How can you  _ leave  _ her at such a time! Mithrandir was right not to let you go, Laurefindil!  _ We  _ need you  _ here! _ ”

At her words his madness left him, and he passed a hand over his face. “ _ By the Valar, you are right _ .”

“Of course I am.”

He snorted. Kri tugged at the front of his coat, kissing him softly, letting him squeeze her tight, relaxing at her touch. When at last he sank on to the couch with a huff, she decreed that her affections were not done, and crawled into his lap, tongue tracing the line of his neck right up to the fine tip of his ear. He shuddered and laughed throatily.

“I thought it was too soon for another?”

She jabbed him in the ribs. “It is. One is enough.”


	38. Into the West

Overhead, the gulls wheeled and squawked, swooping and diving into the blue waters of the Belegaer. At the prow, the two Hobbits sat, watching the waves break before them. 

Presently, Allarían ran up, soft shoes pattering across the polished deck. This time, she greeted Bilbo in the Common Tongue, having finally understood that Quenya was not his mother language. The frail old Halfling used all of his strength to turn, and laughed at the child tugging on his sleeve. He shifted, rummaging in his coat pocket in a moment before producing a tiny square of fudge wrapped in wax paper. The toddler bounced in place as his gnarled old fingers unwrapped it, remembering her thanks as she chewed on a corner.

Frodo said something to her, and she went to him. He was pointing to the birds now as she stood wrapped, watching the gulls with rapt attention as he spoke to her. When she finished her treat, he cleaned her fingers in his handkerchief.

“Careful on the stairs!” Kri called, but there was no need, Allarían was already down them, charging across the ship to her. 

“Fudge!” She declared triumphantly, presenting her sticky fingers to her mother. 

Kri took her over to one of the water barrels and washed her hands properly, silently hoping that was Bilbo's last piece.

“Did Frodo talk to you about the gulls?”

Allarían went to the side, pointed at the bird perched there, and confidently told her: “ _ Elwing!” _

Kri guffawed loudly, before she could stop herself. “For the love of Eru, my child, do not say that to Lord Elrond.”

The bird promptly shat down the side of the boat and flapped away. 

 

Around them, the boards creaked and groaned. Allarían stood on the bed, peering through the broad porthole fixed into the ship's hull. Once or twice she invited Kri to look at some fish or other, and her mother feigned sleep rather than look out into that bottomless abyss. Luckily enough, Glorfindel was equally intrigued by all the colorful creatures they lurched past, and quickly distracted the child.

Presently, as they passed through a deserted stretch of water, she looked down at her father and chirped: “ _ Haruni _ ?”

“Soon.” He replied.

Kri, already sick from looking out the window, groaned dramatically. Her husband flopped down beside her, leaving the little one to blather away at an octopus that had presently stuck itself to the glass.

“She will  _ love  _ you.” He repeated for the umpteenth time, kissing her cheek. 

Kri drew in a calming breath and looked at him. “You really believe that?”

“I know it.”

“How?”

He rolled his eyes in answer. Beside him, Allarían had figured out how to make  _ popping  _ noises with her lips, and pretended to press her new friend's suckers with a  _ pop pop pop! _ Glorfindel chuckled. “How could she not adore the both of you?”

 

A deckhand streaked past, clambering up one of the posts to check the sails. To the left Tol Eressëa loomed over them, and Glorfindel fancied he could see scores of Eldar gathering near the shore, watching the ship as it passed. Kri, not blessed with Elvish sight, took his word for it, squinting at the white buildings hopelessly. In her arms, Allarían gasped and pointed, presumably having seen them as well.

They did not stop, but pushed on toward Alqualondë, hoping to reach port by mid-afternoon. The Hobbits were seated once more at the prow, with Mithrandir behind them. Old Bilbo mumbled something to the wizard, who answered in a whisper. 

“What will become of them?” Kri asked her husband. “Will the Valar grant them leave to stay here?”

“They must.” He said firmly, putting an arm around her shoulders. 

 

To Kri's horror, a large crowd had gathered along the wharf as they edged up alongside it. Heart racing, she shuffled over to the other side of the ship. Choosing instead to gaze out over the water. There came the  _ thud _ of the gangplank hitting the cobbles below, which made her start, and Glorfindel was at her side, taking Allarían from her arms.

“Come, Lady Celebrían is waiting.”

Kri blinked up at him, following as he disembarked. A few faces turned, looking from him, to her, to Allarían. A few turned away after determining they were no-one they knew, a few offered friendly smiled. One or two frowned, and Kri held onto his elbow as he edges his way through the throng.

“ _ Kri _ !” A blinding flash of silver, and something crashed headlong into her. She staggered, blindly clinging onto her friend. “I told you! I told you!”

“You told me everything!” She laughed in response. 

The Lady of Imladris was gone from her embrace the moment her eyes fell on Allarían, who cuddled coyly into her father's chest even as she lavished in Celebrían’s affection. Glorfindel mouthed something to her, and she put a hand to his back, taking Kri by the wrist and driving them out of the crowd. And then she was gone, dashing off to Elrond and her mother without another word. Kri watched her, and wondered that she was so healed. 

 

They spent a fortnight in the company of the Teleri, where King Olwë spoiled them with rich suites, clothing, jewels and more food than they could eat. He was a kind and generous lord, and despite Glorfindel's apprehension held no grudge against the Noldo.

“For what is past is past.” He said. “And it was not done by your hand.”

Still, Glorfindel was eager to move on. From the highest towers of Alqualondë, he could be seen gazing over the lands toward Tirion where, no doubt, his mother awaited him.

 

“You sent a messenger?”

“I told you:  _ yes _ !” He snapped, bringing Asfaloth right up alongside Duvah. “And stop squirming, you'll wake her!”

Kri adjusted Allarían in her arms. “I just don't want them to be caught off guard!”

He mumbled something.

“ _ What _ ?”

“Nothing!” Glorfindel leaned over and tucked a white strand of hair behind her ear. “Just  _ please _ relax!”

When at last they rode through the paved streets of Tirion, which wound up a steep hill, hemmed in on either side by grand houses, a strange calm fell over Kri, and she deemed that she had burned off the last of her panic. This was fortunate, as she could not have imagined riding through the gathered onlookers in her previous state. As it was, poor Allarían hid against her breast for the duration of their ascent.

At last the buildings fell away, and they rode into a great square. Here, dozens of guards lined the way, each with the mark of the House of Finwë upon their shield. The company passed swiftly among these silent ranks, with Allarían cowering against her mother. 

“Do not fear, Sweetheart.” Glorfindel cooed, reaching up to take his daughter as Kri dismounted. “These are our kin. They are here for your protection-”

He tried to put her down, put she protested loudly, clutching at his neck. Lady Galadriel appeared at his shoulder, seeking to soothe her, but to her dismay Allarían recoiled from her as well.

They were escorted into the King's House, which was vast, if simply adorned. Before them sat Finarfin, plucked out of the legends Kri had read as a child, with Eärwen at his side. Galadriel let out a cry, and her mother rushed forward to meet her, tugging her by the arm into her father's embrace. 

It was the woman at the king's other elbow that Glorfindel's attention was fixed on. She seemed frozen for awhile, but now stepped forward, gliding down the steps toward them. She kissed her son upon either cheek, and to Kri's surprise, embraced her as well. Over her shoulder, Glorfindel winked.

Allarían wriggled in his arms, and he set her down. She quietly toddled over and tugged at Lady Findis’ skirts.

“ _ Haruni?” _

With a laugh, Findis gathered the child into her arms. “That's right, my Allarían. I am here to welcome you home.” She grinned at Kri. “All of you.”


End file.
